Winter Song
by JohnGreenGirl
Summary: Daryl and Beth choose to winter in the house they find in season 4. Largely inspired by "Winter Song" by Sara Barielles and Ingrid Michaelson and the fact that I'm still mad Bethyl was taken from us nearly five years after the fact. Explores their developing relationship over the winter months spent in the house together. Read and Review, if you feel so inclined.
1. Winter Song: November

**-November-**

* * *

The first day after the walker breach on the house, Daryl let Beth sleep the entire day. She needed it. Underneath her bravado after leaving the prison, she had exhausted herself. It was obvious in the bruise-like circles under her eyes and the yawns she was trying desperately to hide from him.

He never woke her for her watch shift. Rather, when the sun came up, he pulled the curtains more closely together, so the morning light wouldn't wake her. He crept through the house on light feet, as if he were hunting in the woods.

Beside her sleeping mat on the floor, Daryl left a cup of water and a sleeve of crackers. Mindful of the noise traps they had started outside, he slipped outside.

While Beth rested, Daryl got to work. They did not need another breach, of that he was certain. They hadn't eaten enough of the canned goods to create a larger noise trap yet. With Beth asleep inside, Daryl didn't want to wander far from the house.

So, instead, he busied himself with digging a trench perimeter around the house. Walkers would surely trip right into the holes. The trench would also serve as a fire break, if worst came to worst and one of the storms they had been having caught the forest on fire.

It was slow work for one person, especially in the muggy humidity of the day, but he kept at it. The sun beat down on him with such an intensity that Daryl hardly believed that, come night, it would frost again. He knew it would, despite the heat of the day.

Their last night outdoors had been so frigid that he had given Beth his vest for another layer of clothing. They stayed awake the whole long, cold night, huddled close to the fire.

 _"The first shelter we find,"_ Daryl had whispered to her, _"we take. Understand?"_

She had nodded beside him, her teeth chattering in her mouth despite his vest and the fire. Daryl had watched Beth take out walkers—had even taught her to use the crossbow—but he still reserved his doubts about what she would do if confronted with a human opponent.

Beth was still kind, and that was a dangerous thing to be in this world.

They had been lucky to find the empty house that doubled as a funeral parlor. It would serve them well over the winter, and Daryl was not going to let anyone take it from them. Not walkers, not people, nothing.

Daryl worked on the perimeter until he finished the last few feet right before the sun slipped below the horizon. He slipped back into the house, sliding the deadbolt lock into place behind him.

Beth was awake inside. She sat up in her blankets, her hair a messy blond mass around her head. Meeting his eyes over the lip of her cup, Beth took several long pulls of water.

"Thank you," she said, her voice soft yet firm. The same way Hershel spoke when he was serious about something. "But don't do it again."

Her eyes were fierce when they caught his again. He knew that she didn't want him to view her as weak; he didn't, but apparently Beth needed more convincing of that fact. So, Daryl merely nodded. "Okay. You hungry?"

She was quiet for a moment, regarding him. Then she gave nod of her own and threw the blankets off herself. Beth led the way into the kitchen, Daryl close behind. He let the crossbow slide from his shoulder near the doorway.

"Here's your gross jar of pig feet." She handed it to him over her shoulder. "I'll let you eat that on your own."

"I'll try to catch something you'll eat, soon," Daryl promised her. He watched her open a can of green beans for her own dinner. She smiled at him, pulling her knees to her chest while she ate.

"It's your turn to sleep tonight. I'll stay up. We'll fix our watch schedules tomorrow night." She said it with such conviction that there was absolutely no room for arguing.

"Yes, ma'am," Daryl murmured into his jar.

* * *

It rained so heavily that, for two days, neither of them dared to go outside. Well, not for longer than it took Daryl to keep rotating all the pots and pans in the house. He collected the rain water in the bathtub, for lack of a better place to keep it.

"We need to find some barrels or something," he muttered, dumping each pot as soon as Beth placed it in his hands from the doorway. "This'll do, for now."

Beth tried not to think about the connotations of drinking water from a bathtub that was probably dirty.

"At least we know we won't die of dehydration," Beth mumbled to herself. Daryl heard her, though. He canted his head to the side, catching her eye.

"We ain't dying, _period._ "

The seriousness of his tone was so heavy that Beth nearly dropped the next pan she passed to him. It took exactly thirty-one more pans to fill the bathtub entirely. She counted. Daryl placed the rest of the pans in the kitchen.

For the first time that night, they used the fireplace to build a fire for their dinner. Using their left-over water, a can of mixed vegetables, and the meat of two blackbirds, Beth managed to make a stew of sorts for them. She portioned it into bowls for them, and they ate on the floor in front of the fire instead of the table, which was covered in pans.

"Maggie used to hate the rain," Beth told him, blowing on a spoonful of her stew. "She liked to be outside too much. Daddy used to say she spent so much time with the horses that she would turn into one."

"We're lucky to have the rain now," Daryl told her. "We'll be luckier still if we get some good snows."

 _Was this what it was like for him?_ she wondered. His childhood, she had gleamed from their drunken night together, was not much of anything. He had been forced to grow up too fast, to learn things no child needed to worry about.

"I'm happy for it now, then."

They sat in companionable silence, slurping their stew. The blackbird meat was slick in her mouth, but it honestly didn't taste too different from other poultry. It was certainly better than nothing, and it was a hot dinner.

"Is there a cellar in this house, do you think?"

"Yeah, there's a trapdoor to it in the back bedroom. It's cold as shit down there. The food'll definitely keep."

Beth smiled to herself, honestly proud that their thoughts were on the same page.

* * *

 _Save all the cans_ , Daryl had instructed her. With her pocket knife, Beth poked holes in the aluminum and threaded fishing wire through. She sat cross-legged in the floor, working in the quiet dimness of the house. They had only been there about a week, but already Beth was getting good at reading the time of day from the shift in light through the curtains Daryl insisted they keep closed.

He was outside collecting firewood. It wasn't cold enough, yet, for Beth to successfully talk Daryl into building a fire indoors. They needed a fire, though, to cook the hare Daryl had managed to catch.

While Beth worked, her hand slipped, catching her skin with the blade rather than the can.

"Dammit," she cursed, just as Daryl came into the door.

"You alright?" He stomped his feet on the doormat, knocking the mud from his boots. When he picked his head up, Beth had already stuck her finger in her mouth to staunch the bleeding.

She nodded up at him, but he dropped his game bag with a dull _thud_ on the floor and crouched before her. "Lemme see."

It was only a little cut. Not deep. Still, they couldn't take any risks. Daryl motioned for Beth to follow him into the kitchen. Neither the water nor the electricity worked in the house anymore, but Daryl spared some of their saved rain water to wash Beth's hand in the sink anyway. He didn't bother reminding her to be careful.

"We don't have to waste our water on this," she murmured to him. Since the close call with the dog the night they found the house, they had taken to speaking in low voices even while inside.

"I ain't gonna have you catchin' your death from a tiny cut," Daryl countered. Despite her protest, Beth made no move to draw her hand away from his. He washed it with water before pouring a little peroxide over top and wrapping a bandage around it.

"I'm bored inside, working on the cans by myself." It came out as a whine. "Let me come out with you. Please?"

Daryl blew his breath. He knew she was liable to follow him, regardless of the answer he gave.

"Stay close to me. I haven't scouted the area much, with all the rains."

It had rained almost every day. Beth had said it was the sky crying for her, because she didn't have the tears left to mourn.

She smiled up at him, taking him by the wrist and pulling him behind her. Daryl blew his breath again. Beth was happy enough, it seemed, to sit in the damp grass and watch him struggle to light a fire with all of the soggy wood.

"Daryl?" Beth asked after he had managed to burn his fingers more times than the twigs and broken branches. Honestly, he was on the verge of quitting when, miraculously, the wood caught enough to smoke and give off heat. Smoked rabbit was going to be better than raw rabbit.

"Yeah?" He rocked back on his heels, feeding the fire paper from an old phone book he had found inside.

"How do you spell your name?" Of all the Greene family members he could have been stuck with, it had to be Beth. Daryl had never much minded her, but sometimes the way her mind worked left him frustrated.

"You know a lot of ways to spell it or what?"

"Well, it could have two r's. Or an e, or a y—two l's, maybe." Smirking despite himself, he spelled it out for her.

"D-a-r-y-l. Why?"

Only then did Daryl bother to look up. From her spot perched in the grass, Beth was carving into the trunk of a tree.

"What the hell do you think you're doin'?" Daryl chided, but he didn't bother to move from his own spot next to the fire to stop her. Instead, he watched her roll her eyes and toss her blonde ponytail in defiance.

"It's practically on the ground, I carved it so low. No one who wasn't looking for clues of people they know would see it."

He couldn't argue with that. So, he fed more paper to the fire while Beth carved. Daryl reached the F's before he had built the fire up enough to really catch. Only then did he put the rabbit over the spit.

Beth, he knew, would insist on putting the meat on the plates from the kitchen. She was clinging to anything that brought any semblance of normalcy…and he couldn't blame her. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw the image of Hershel being beheaded by the Governor. Daryl couldn't imagine how bad it was for her.

They ate at the table, just like Beth insisted every night since they had been there. She lit candles with the flint, just like he had showed her, so they could save the matches. Rabbit and wild strawberries he had found the day before made up the plate Beth handed to Daryl.

"It's not so bad here," she said quietly, taking a bite of her food. "You're sure we should stay here? That we shouldn't try to find the others?"

"The weather's changin' fast. Even if the days are warm, the nights ain't." Beth had slept too long each morning—and Daryl had let her—to see how thickly the frost covered the ground before the rising sun melted it away. The land and weather in Georgia were something Daryl knew well. There would be snow on the ground before the month was up, he was sure of it.

Without a roof over her head and blankets to wrap herself in, Daryl was certain the nightly frosts would do Beth in before they caught any sign of their people.

Beth only nodded. "If you think we should stay, we'll stay."

* * *

It wasn't so bad. Their house wasn't the only one in the area. While Beth entertained herself with learning the land and gathering whatever foliage Daryl identified as safe for them to eat, Daryl did scavenging of his own. Nearly every day, he brought her something new.

Sleeping bags to help cushion the floor, because both of them had taken to sleeping in the parlor.

Books for Beth to read. More candles. Soap, because she had complained that it had been 'forever' since she had a bath or washed her hair.

Winter clothes for both of them. Thick socks, flannels, jackets. A hat and gloves. Blankets. So many blankets. It didn't occur to either of them to move their set up to a different house, perhaps one that wasn't formerly a funeral home.

Daryl brought food, too, but she was much more interested with the other things.

"Do you have a thing for beans?" Beth asked one afternoon, helping him put away the new haul of canned goods. Cans and cans and cans of beans…at least Daryl made it easy to organize the pantry.

"They're good protein when meat's scarce." Winter. Always thinking of winter.

"Think about that in a few weeks when you're sick of 'em." Though Daryl was taller, Beth insisted on standing on the counter while he handed her cans.

"You think about it when you see flower bloomin' come spring because I didn't let you starve to death," he countered. Beth had never known Daryl to be much of a talker until they ended up each other's only companion in the world.

When all the cans were put away, Daryl held his hand out courteously to help her down from the counter. Beth felt her heart jump at the same time she did.

"There's another storm rollin' in," he told her. "I reckon you could play the piano tonight, if you want."

Because the rain and thunder would drown out the music from the outside.

He joined her in the parlor. On the second day, they had cleared out all the chairs. All that remained was the piano, a few side tables, their sleeping bags, and the coffin. Sometimes, Daryl still took naps there.

This time, though, Beth patted the piano bench, inviting Daryl to sit beside her as she played. At first, she let her fingers roam over the keys without rhyme or reason.

"Do you remember the song I sang with Maggie our first night at the prison?" She asked him without looking up. "It was one of Daddy's favorites."

Beth didn't wait for his answer. Her eyes drifted shut as she began to play.

 _"Of all the money, that e'er I had, I spent it in good company,"_ Beth sang. _"And of all the harm that e'er I've done, alas it was to none but me."_

She sang the song in its entirety, her voice taking Daryl back to a muggy summer night sitting in the grass outside the prison. The piano held a melody with Beth's voice where Maggie's once had.

Daryl almost didn't realize the song had ended, even as the piano notes drifted away, until Beth turned toward him. She wrapped her arms around him and laid her head against his chest, her small body shaking. He was so lost in his memories that it took him a moment to realize she was crying.

Belatedly, his arms came around her. He felt how tightly she was holding his shirt in her little hands as she sobbed. Daryl didn't bother to offer her any words; he knew damn well there was nothing he could hear that would have made him feel better after he found Merle.

So, he simply held her instead. Until, after what felt like an eternity, she went slack against him—she had cried herself to sleep. Carefully, Daryl shifted her weight, so he could lift her.

He tucked her into her blankets on the floor, sliding her boots from her feet. Beth, he had learned, hated to sleep in her shoes.

She was on first watch that night, but it didn't matter. Daryl let her sleep, watching the storm rage outside the window instead.

* * *

In the hallway, which the pair rarely used, Beth hung up lengths of rope to make an in-door clothes line.

"Yesterday was Thanksgiving," she told him. Daryl sat in the kitchen, twisting lengths of dried grass into braided pieces. He had explained that, should worst come to worst once the snow started o fall, the dried grass would be their backup for fires.

"Little late for me to get a turkey now," he called back to her. Beth smiled as she stood on her tiptoes to hand up one of his shirts. "Shoulda told me yesterday."

Beth had found an old calendar in the house. Using it as a guide, she changed the dates to match the calendar she had been keeping at the prison. She had no idea how accurate her calendar was but having a way to keep track of time made her feel better somehow.

"Do you really think everyone else is doing what we're doing? Hunkering down somewhere for winter?"

"They better be, if they've got a lick of sense."

She opened her mouth to say something else, but a loud thud interrupted her. Daryl was on his feet immediately, crossbow already in his hands. He raised a finger to his lips.

"Stay back for real this time." He barely dared to whisper the words as he slipped past her in the long hallway.

 _Never mind that I killed nearly as many walkers as you that night_ , Beth thought to herself. But she did as Daryl asked, not moving an inch in the hallway until he came back.

"It was just the one," he told her, holding the soiled arrow at arm's length. He always did that, she had noticed, until he cleaned it. Daryl went so far as to hold the tips of his arrows over open flames, to sanitize them. "Dumbass walked right into the house. Guess I can't blame him, he didn't have any eyes left."

"That's gross." Beth scrunched up her nose and went back to hanging up their clean clothes. She knew Daryl didn't understand why she insisted on doing laundry, but he brought her creek water and rocks in a bucket anyway, so she could get it done.

"Maggots, I'll bet," Daryl continued on. She was certain he only did so because her disgust was obvious. "Not even they'll eat a walker's brains."

"Life would be a lot easier if they would." Beth peeked around the pair of her jeans she had just hung up. Daryl had reclaimed his seat at the table, hands full of dried grass. His eyes—which Beth has come to realize are very blue—meet hers, the mischievous twinkle in them obvious, as is the smirk on his lips.

Daryl Dixon, who she had long considered to be all hard business, was teasing her.

* * *

On Sundays, Beth read Bible verses to him. Daryl knows them all, but he doesn't tell her that. The Bible was one of the few books in his house growing up, and it was the one Merle used to teach him to read.

He knew, without Beth having to tell him, that she was reading from 2 Corinthians.

 _"Therefore we do not lose heart. Though outwardly we are wasting away, yet inwardly we are being renewed day by day. For our light and momentary troubles are achieving for us an eternal glory that far outweighs them all. So we fix our eyes not on what is seen, but on what is unseen, since what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal."_

The words Beth read aloud to him had held no meaning to him for most of his life, but he never stopped her. This was a routine she had with Hershel, Maggie, and Glenn every Sunday at the prison. He reckoned it made her feel closer to them, though Hershel was dead and who knew where Maggie and Glenn even were.

Sometimes, though, he couldn't help himself.

"What's Revelation got to say about this earthly hellhole?" He asks on the fifth Sunday of this routine. Beth glared up at him and looked like she might want to throw the Bible at him, but all Daryl wants to do is smile at the grumpy look on her face.

So he did. Which, of course, only annoyed Beth more.

"This is not the end times foretold in the Book of Revelation," she asserted.

"Hell, I guess we're pretty lucky, then, if the world can be worse than this."

Beth fell quiet for a moment. Her eyes scanned the room. They fell on the piano, which was dotted with vases of wildflowers she had managed to find. Daryl, lounging in the coffin as if it were a regular couch. Their sleeping mats, which were beginning to drift together, but neither of them had commented on that fact.

"It's really not so bad here," she whispered quietly after a few minutes of quiet contemplation.

Daryl knew she wasn't talking about the world outside of this house they had come to share.

"No, it ain't."

* * *

On the last night in November, Beth felt a hand shaking her shoulder. At first, her sleep-addled brain told her it was Maggie. As she woke, though, she felt the floor boards beneath her bedding and made out Daryl's voice close to her ear.

"Hey, Beth," he whispered, his breath washing over her cheek. "C'mere."

Sleepily, she accepted his hand to pull her up. She took a blanket with her; the air was frigid outside of her bedding. Padding across the floor, Daryl led her to a window. He kept hold of her with one hand, and used the other to move the curtains aside.

"Look," he sounded reverent, almost. "It's snowin'."

And it was. Big, fat snowflakes drifting to the ground in thick sheets. They gave the illusion of peace and tranquility. Beth so wanted to believe that this snowfall, so crisp and clean outside, was the true natural state of the world.

She opened the side of her blanket, offering it to Daryl. After a beat, he moved closer, letting her wrap it around him. Beth rested her head against his shoulder and wrapped her arms around his waist. She listened to his steady breaths, coming as evenly and surely as the snow outside.

"It's beautiful," she murmured against the leather of his vest. He wore it even in sleep, most nights.

He didn't answer her, but she felt his fingers work into her loose hair, twisting the strands around his fingers. The clouds outside began to lighten as they watched the snow drifting to the ground. They were cozy in each other's warmth as the sun rose, bringing them into the first day of December.


	2. Winter Song: December

**-December-**

* * *

"See how the snow freezes 'em some?" Daryl and Beth stood in the window, watching a handful of walkers bumble around outside. They _were_ stiffer than usual, these walkers. "If the cold didn't freeze us, too, this would be the time to be on the move."

"At least we always have water now, as long as it keeps snowing." At Beth's words, he tapped his finger against her temple.

"Someone's learnin'." She blushed, glancing down at her feet. "After they pass, I'm gonna try to get that deer."

"Be careful out there." Beth peeked up at him, checking to see if he knew how serious she was. She couldn't imagine being left alone in the world without Daryl, and it had only been a month since they had come to live in this house.

"I'll be back before sundown," Daryl promised. Still, Beth walked Daryl to the door. She knew he planned to hunt today; last night, she had packed some of their dried berries and some almonds she found into a cloth napkin for him. Before the door closed between them, she pressed the napkin into his hand.

Beth couldn't quite read the expression on his face when he looked up at her. It made her blush again, and she found herself explaining herself. "In case you get hungry out there."

The blue of his eyes softened at that, and he gave her a small nod. "Lock the door behind me. I'll knock when I come back."

Without Daryl there, Beth found herself feeling a bit lost. She didn't want to read. She knew she shouldn't play the piano while she was alone. Instead, she pulled an extra sweater over herself and headed to the back bedroom.

Carol had taught her that busy hands made the time pass faster. When their friends were scouting or doing work outside of the prison gates, the two of them would find any work they could to occupy themselves.

 _"You worry less when you're busy,"_ Carol had said, with one of her soft smiles. Beth repeated these words to herself as she climbed the ladder down into the cellar.

There was no light down there, of course. Daryl had left a flashlight at the base of the ladder, though. Flicking it on, Beth took her first look around the cellar.

Here beneath the ground, she was able to see her breath. Hanging from the ceiling on the far side of the cellar were the rabbits and birds Daryl had managed to catch up to this point. Remnants of the house's past life were all over the place: old gurneys, shelves of mortician's tools.

Beth shuddered at the thought of the business that used to go on there. She abandoned the flashlight at the foot of the ladder, making her way back upstairs. There were two bedrooms in the house. She stripped the bedding from the bed in the first room and started pulling the mattress from the bedframe.

"Even in the prison we had real beds," she muttered to herself. "We should at least use the mattresses."

It took Beth a while to get the mattress angled off the bed. To get it down the hallway, she had to alternate dragging and pushing it along the wall until she got the mattress into the front room.

She let herself fall on top of it, trying to catch her breath. "I'll do Daryl's first."

Before the entire world changed, Beth didn't have the habit of talking to herself. Now that she so often found herself alone, she couldn't help herself. Adding the quilts and pillows she had taken from the bed to get the mattress, she made up Daryl's bed.

Shaking out Daryl's blankets caused the scent of him to waft toward her. It was a smell that had become familiar to her; earthy and musky in a pleasant way, marking Daryl as one with the earth he knew so well. Definitely not an unpleasant smell. Truthfully, it was one that had come to comfort her, with Daryl being her last true connection in this world.

Doing her own felt like it took several hours. When she peeked out the window, the sun wasn't even in the midway point of the sky. Somehow, it was still morning. Beth blew her hair out of her face, heading into the bathroom.

There were still creature comforts in this house. She pulled a brush through her hair, trying to make sense of it. Moving the mattresses had sent it into a tangled disarray. Usually, she kept her hair in a ponytail, but since she had nothing but time to kill until Daryl got back, she took the time to French braid it.

Maggie had taught her, years ago. Her sister had sat on the porch swing, Beth between her knees. While Maggie braided Beth's hair, Beth had braided the hair of one of her dolls. _Make sure you get a little more hair every time you put a strand in your braid._

"This day is never going to end," Beth lamented to her reflection as she tied off her braid. I wonder what Daryl with think.

Not of the beds she had made. Of her hair. Since when did Beth care what Daryl thought of her hair? She watched the blush creep into her cheeks and looked away. Her face still felt hot when she made back into the front room.

She was on a self-given mission, you see. If the front room was going to be where they spent most of their time, she wanted it to be less funeral parlor and more…homey. Her next step was to clear the mantle over the fireplace of all the sample urns that made their home there. Those, she stuffed away under the kitchen sink.

In one of the bedrooms, there were vases of fake flowers. Her wildflowers had died with the fall season, so Beth settled for the silk flowers and arranged the vases along the mantle. The pink and white daisies were a huge improvement over the urns, she thought.

Real beds. Some flowers to brighten up the space. Standing in the doorway, Beth thought it looked homier already. Still, she thought it needed more, so she added a rocking chair and rug from one of the bedrooms.

"If we have to live in the front room, it might as well be nice." It reminded her of the descriptions of one-room claim shanties in the Little House on the Prairie book series. A long time ago, in another life, she spent her summers reading the books with Maggie.

Even with all of that work, there were still hours in the day. Beth settled herself onto her newly made bed, satisfied with her work, and began to read a romance novel she had found.

Somewhere along the way, she must have accidentally fallen asleep. A pounding knock startled her out of her dreamless sleep, making her jerk up and away from her bed. The mattresses were more comfortable than she thought, she guessed.

"I'm coming!" She said without thinking. It didn't occur to her that it could have been anyone other than Daryl. Her excitement overtook her sense, sending her running to open the door. Beth fumbled with the lock before getting it open, smiling up into Daryl's face.

He almost reprimanded her for not even asking who was at the door. Almost. But the way her smile crinkled her eyes…he couldn't bring himself to. Honestly, he hadn't seen her truly smile since months before Hershel died, when they lost that little boyfriend of hers on a run.

"You didn't get the deer?" Beth's face nearly fell. He hoisted his game bag, heavy with the day's work.

"Yeah. I just made it easier to carry, s'all." Over the top of Beth's head, Daryl saw a completely different house than the one he had left. Had he not known better, he might have thought he walked into the wrong place. "You been busy?"

"Well," Beth took a step back, making room for Daryl, "if we're going to stay here, I thought we might as well try to make it nice."

The only response Daryl gave was a not, but…he was fairly certain this was the nicest thin anyone had ever done for him.

Merle had taken care of him, sure, but Merle had been his brother. That was different. There was a responsibility there, an obligation. Beth didn't have to do anything for him. As he made his way to the cellar, to store the deer meat, he felt his heart give a squeeze he didn't quite understand.

* * *

When he thought it wasn't too cold for her little frame, Daryl took Beth with him to find firewood. She always bundled up in the clothes he had found for her: a hat pulled over her blonde waves; gloves warming her tiny hands; a scarf wrapped around her neck.

In contrast, Beth was lucky if she convinced Daryl to wear a jacket.

"I get too hot," he would argue. To be fair, he did do most of the work, with chopping down the trees.

Beth knew she was there for two reasons: to carry the wood back to the house, and to cover Daryl. When he found a tree he liked, he would hand the crossbow to Beth. That, with the bullets they still had in the guns they had taken from the prison and their knives, was all the weaponry they had at their disposal.

"I never thought trees could be so loud," Beth whispered, mostly to herself, while Daryl worked. Of course, with his hunter's ears, Daryl was able to hear her over the clanging sound of the ax hitting the tree trunk.

"Everything's too loud for this world." Daryl told her between ax swings. "All's we can do is deal with it. Crossbows are a hell of a lot quieter than guns."

He wasn't wrong there. While Daryl worked, Beth watched the snow swirling around them. It had been steady over the last few days. The sky and air were full of lazily falling snowflakes. The nights were cold enough that the snow froze harder each night, lending itself to identifying approaching footsteps with the crunching it would make.

Which is how Beth heard the lone walker approaching them long before it got anywhere close to them. Beth raised the crossbow, eyeballing the angle she would need to pierce the walker's brain. She took a steadying breath, like Daryl had taught her, and pulled the trigger on her exhale.

Silently, the arrow sailed through the air. The only noise it made was the dull squelch as it lodged itself in the walker's brain. Of the whole ordeal, the loudest noise was the walker falling to it's true death in the hardpacked snow.

"Atta girl," Daryl complimented her.

Beth smiled so hard she thought her cheeks might crack in the cold air.

* * *

The Bible wasn't the only book that Beth read aloud to Daryl. Whatever book she herself was working through, she would often read a few paragraphs or a chapter here and there for him.

"It might be a surprise," Daryl told her once, "but I know how to read."

Beth had blushed furiously at his teasing, stumbling over the words of her unneeded apology. He had only smirked, until she caught on that he was teasing. Then, Beth's flushed expression had quickly turned to a glare that Daryl was certain wouldn't have intimidated a kitten.

Still, Beth didn't stop reading to him. In all honestly, he didn't mind. If he were being honest, then Daryl would admit that the liked Beth's sweet, high voice—whether she was singing or talking, it didn't matter.

"Pay attention to this one," she told him one night. Something about the ever-present clouds had messed up her sleep schedule. Beth often woke in the night, hours before her time to take a turn on watch. Instead of going back to sleep, she would often talk to Daryl. Or, like tonight, light a candle next to her bed and read to him. "It's my favorite poem."

Daryl tamped down his chuckle. He glanced away from the window he had been looking out, watching the world outside their little house. "Who's it by?"

"Edgar Allan Poe."

"Isn't that the freaky raven guy?"

He didn't even have to look at her to know she was rolling her eyes at him. "Just listen."

She began to read, her voice softly wafting to him from across the room:

 _It was many and many a year ago,_

 _In a kingdom by the sea,_

 _That a maiden there lived who you may know_

 _By the name of Annabel Lee;_

 _And this maiden she lived with no other thought_

 _Than to love and be loved by me._

Even though she was reading, not singing, the rhyming of the poem almost made it sound like a song.

 _I was a child and she was a child,_

 _In this kingdom by the sea,_

 _But we loved with a love that was more than love—_

 _I and my Annabel Lee—_

 _With a love that the winged seraphs of Heaven_

 _Coveted her and me._

The flickering of the light lone candle next to her bed lit up Beth's face in warm light while she read. It moved across her features, but somehow, seemed to fixate on her lips as they moved. Or were those Daryl's eyes, lighting upon her mouth time and again?

 _And this was the reason, that long ago,_

 _In this kingdom by the sea,_

 _A wind blew out of a cloud, chilling_

 _My beautiful Annabel Lee;_

 _So that her highborn kinsmen came_

 _And bore her away from me,_

 _To shut her up in a sepulcher_

 _In this kingdom by the sea._

Beth rolled from her stomach to her side, facing him more head-on. She took the candle with her, shifting its light.

 _The angels, not half so happy in Heaven,_

 _Went envying her and me—_

 _Yes!—that was the reason (as all men know,_

 _In this kingdom by the sea)_

 _That the wind came out of the cloud by night,_

 _Chilling and killing my Annabel Lee._

Her eyes flicked up, meeting his for just a moment across the room. It dawned on Daryl, suddenly, that the had been watching Beth read without pause. He had no idea how long the poem was, but since she began reading, his eyes hadn't strayed from Beth once.

 _But our love it was stronger by far than the love_

 _Of those who were older than we—_

 _Of many far wiser than we—_

 _And neither the angels in Heaven above_

 _Nor the demons down under the sea_

 _Can ever dissever my soul from the soul_

 _Of the beautiful Annabel Lee_

The world around them could be ending—again—for all Daryl knew. His universe had shrunk. All that existed, he was fairly certain, was this room, that candle, Beth swathed in her blankets, her voice reading a poem he had never heard.

 _For the moon never beams, without bringing me dreams_

 _Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;_

 _And the stars never rise, but I feel the bright eyes_

 _Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;_

 _And so, all the night-tide, I lie down by the side_

 _Of my darling—my darling—my life and my bride,_

 _In her sepulcher there by the sea—_

 _In her tomb by the sounding sea._

Beth's pause drew on for so long that Daryl realized the poem was over. She was pausing now, expectant, waiting for him to comment. When he opened his mouth, Daryl found that his throat had grown thick.

"It's nice," he said, his voice surprisingly husky. "But she died."

That was enough to spark Beth to life, breaking whatever spell she had cast while she read. "But that's the _point._ She died, and he still loved her, for the rest of his life. Don't you think that's romantic?"

Daryl felt his eyebrows shoot up. "Or stupid."

Beth groaned, rolling onto her back. "You're impossible."

She propped herself onto her elbows, stifling a yawn as she watched him.

"Go back to sleep," he told her. Daryl motioned with his head toward the clock. It wasn't accurate, he was sure, but it was nearly one a.m. according to the thing. Beth didn't have watch until three. "You got time."

Beth leaned toward her candle, cupping the flame with her hand. He watched her lips once more as she brought them close, extinguishing the candle with a little huff of her breath. With that tiny light gone, they were thrown into darkness.

Daryl turned his attention back to the window. Nothing had changed in the time it took Beth to read the poem to him. Somehow, he was both surprised and nonplussed by this fact. Of course, nothing had changed; he hadn't heard anything. On the other hand, he had felt a definite shift in himself while Beth read.

He listened to her settle into her bed, blankets rustling around her.

"Goodnight, Daryl," her little voice reached him again.

"'Night, Beth."

* * *

If December was the beginning of winter, Daryl was spooked to see what the rest of the season would bring. Barely halfway through the month, according to the calendar Beth had made, they were hit with a cold snap so severe that he didn't dare leave the house.

"Bring me some of them towels," he instructed Beth. Her teeth were chattering, despite the layered sweaters she wore, but she did what he asked. Rolling the towels tightly in his hands, Daryl shoved the fabric against window ledges and the bottom of doors. Trying to block out as much cold as he could.

"What good is this house if we freeze to death inside?" Beth complained, and he couldn't blame her. It had been cold all day, and now that night was falling, the temperature was only dropping further.

Daryl dragged the mattresses close to the fire. He positioned Beth's so that it was closest, fearful that the cold would settle into her.

"No sense in doing watch shifts tonight," he told her. "Go ahead and get in bed so you can be warm."

The storm raging outside would surely keep both walkers and humans away from the house. Daryl had no intentions of leaving his blankets, either, though he wasn't sure how much he would sleep. If they didn't keep the fire up throughout the night, they would be in some trouble.

Beth slipped her boots off and pulled on another pair of socks in their place. She didn't bother to remove any of the many layers she wore as she slipped under her blankets. Through the heaps of fabric, Daryl could still see her shivering.

Before getting into bed himself, Daryl added the thickest logs they had inside to the fire. He hoped they would burn slow through the night.

That fire provided the only light in the house. Beth had blown all the candles out earlier, and the storm was stealing any chance of moon or starlight. In the hazy firelight, Daryl watched Beth pull the covers up under her chin and roll toward the warmth. It took a few minutes, but her shoulders slowly stopped shaking.

He was pretty sure she had fallen asleep when her voice cut through the cold darkness.

"Daryl?"

"Yeah?"

She rolled herself back toward him. "You're still awake?"

"Yeah."

"I'm still cold."

Sighing, he pushed himself up on his elbow. There wasn't really much he could do about her being cold, except…

"C'mere," he relented after a moment.

"Why? I'm closer to the fire. You come over here."

He felt his eyes fluttering shut and he took a deep breath. Sometimes, the youngest Greene could push buttons. As sweet as she was, he had learned she could be blunt, stubborn, and combative.

"Alright."

Climbing out of the blankets, Daryl pushed his bed until it was flush with Beth's. Then he readjusted his own blankets over her before positioning himself back under the sheets. He thought she might have been exaggerating about being cold, but then Beth moved closer to him and he could feel the chill on her skin.

"Thank you," she murmured. Letting her head loll to the side, it came to rest against his shoulder. Otherwise, their bodies didn't touch.

"'Course," he whispered back to her. They fell quiet, and Daryl forced himself to listen to her little breaths and the logs popping in the fire. Focusing on these sounds distracted him from the way his blood was rushing in his veins.

 _Why,_ he wondered, _did it matter if she was this close to him?_

His presence must have warmed her, though. Beth's breathing deepened and evened out, letting him know she had fallen entirely asleep. Daryl tried to stay still, so he wouldn't wake her, and watched the storm outside the window. He had left the curtains open on only one, so he could check the outside world if he thought he needed to.

Beth's cheek was soft and hot against his shoulder. Though she had complained of the cold, she was warming the spot beside him. The swirling snow patterns outside the window were oddly soothing to his eyes. Daryl fell into sleep easily—so much so that he didn't realize it was happening.

Many hours later, a loud _crack!_ startled Beth from her sleep. Her body jumped, yanking her from her dream, the surprise stealing her breath for a moment. As her mind regained consciousness, she realized she was pressed against someone.

"Shhh," Daryl murmured against her hair. He must have been more or less asleep himself. She felt his hand on her back, lazily rubbing comfortable circles. "It's just a tree. Go back to sleep."

The slow circles Daryl was making with his hand calmed her. Slowly, her heart calmed. Beth snuggled herself closer to Daryl, pressing her cheek against his chest so she could hear his steady heartbeat and breathing, falling back asleep to their cadence.

* * *

After that night, without there ever being a word spoken about it, Daryl and Beth shared her bed.

And every night, they fell asleep without touching each other…much. Sometimes, Beth would rest her head against his shoulder, like she had the first night. Other nights, she held his hand and told him whispered stories about her childhood on her father's farm.

And every morning, they woke with their limbs entangled. Beth's head might be resting on his chest, Daryl's own dipped low over hers. Or she might wake with Daryl's chest flush to her back, a warm and strong arm wrapped around her waist. Or Daryl might find Beth's cheek pressed to his back, her arms hugging him to her, one of her legs thrown over his hip.

They never spoke about this, either.

* * *

 **A/N:** Poe owns _Annabel Lee,_ obviously. I do not. Nor do I own Beth, Daryl, or anything TWD related. But I do own the fact that this is purely self-indulgent Bethyl fluff because it is a ship I will GLADLY go down with. Enjoy, my friends.


	3. Winter Song: January

**-January-**

* * *

Beth knew Daryl was sick.

She was fairly certain that Daryl knew that he was sick, too. The only problem was that he was trying to hide it from her.

"Daryl." She reached out and grabbed the edge of his shirt. "Go back to bed."

He didn't take another step forward. Beth watched his shoulders rise and fall in a sigh. "That's no good to us."

"You getting yourself killed out there because you're sick isn't any good to us, either." She gave his shirt a solid tug, forcing him to backtrack to her.

His eyes were rimmed in red. The blue of them was dull, instead of their usual brightness. When Beth laid her palm on his forehead, Daryl's skin burned under her touch. "You have a fever."

To her surprise, Daryl did not protest farther when she slipped his crossbow from his shoulder. He must have been feeling worse than he was letting on. She insisted that Daryl take his boots off—and he did. She hoped the shock didn't show too much on her face.

"Let's get you back in bed," Beth said again, more softly this time.

"Sure, Nurse Beth."

He did not protest much when she gently pushed him down toward the bed. Beth tucked the covers in tight around his shoulders. "I'm sorry if it's uncomfortable and hot, but we don't have any medicine and we need your fever to break."

Her little hands smoothed over the blankets, their fluttering belying her fretfulness over the whole thing.

"I'll sleep it off," Daryl promised. He was already drifting back into sleep. Beth sighed, shaking her head. She knew exactly why Daryl had been insistent on going out. They needed more firewood. He had been heading to grab the ax when she stopped him.

Beth got Daryl a glass of water, leaving it beside the bed for him. She pulled on her another sweater, layering her coat over it. Pulling on a beanie, Beth stuffed her ponytail inside the knit hat. She forewent gloves, knowing she would need her hands free to use both the ax and the crossbow.

 _I'll only have one shot with this,_ she thought to herself. Re-loading the crossbow was something she still struggled with.

She also knew her abilities well enough to know that trying to fell a large tree would be useless. Younger trees, saplings, or dead trees…that's what she would need to go for. Bouncing up on her tiptoes, Beth ran her hand along the edge of the doorframe until she felt the cold metal of the housekey. Daryl had found it recently, inside a desk in one of the bedrooms. Now she could lock Daryl safely inside and still be able to come back without rousing him.

After locking the door, she slipped the key into her pocket.

It occurred to Beth that she had never been out on her own. Neither Hershel nor Maggie would have allowed it, at the prison. They didn't think she was strong enough. Beth wasn't entirely sure that Daryl would be thrilled, but it was either she went out and got more wood or they froze in their little house.

Still, she was careful to keep that little house in sight while she worked. There were a few smaller trees peppered among the forest surrounding the house. Before she ever swung the ax, Beth looked all around her to make sure she was alone.

Her nervous little breaths manifested themselves in clouds before her face in the cold air. She took a deep breath of that cold air, feeling it fill her lungs, before planting her feet in the snow and taking a swing at the tree before her.

Daryl had made the work look so effortless. She hadn't expected the way the ax would become lodged when it bit into the trunk of the tree. It took all of her strength to get it back out. But she had good aim, so it was not hard to hit her initial mark. It was slow progress, but eventually, Beth was able to hack away at the small trunk until the tree fell in the snow before her.

Now she knew why Daryl insisted he didn't need a jacket when he was cutting down trees. She felt absolutely bathed in sweat. Being out in the open, alone, wasn't as freeing as she always thought it would be. Her mind was mostly on Daryl, and how he was faring.

More than once, Beth pushed aside the intrusive thought that this sickness could be the same one that took so many at the prison.

She made her work go as quickly as possible. The tree was nearly frozen. Bracing her foot against the trunk, she was able to snap most of the thin branches right off.

Beth made due with three little trees before her worries over Daryl had her filling her arms with her bounty and heaping it inside the house, close to the door. She locked the door behind her and began shedding layers: her hat, her coat and sweater.

Despite her efforts not to wake him, Daryl didn't respond to any noise she made. This scared Beth enough that she rushed to the bed, laying her head on his chest to check for his breathing and heartbeat. It took several moments for her own to even out after she felt the rise and fall of his breaths against her cheek.

Daryl was not aware of much in his fever sleep. He woke a few times, hazily, and always to Beth. Once, she was dabbing at his face with a cool washcloth. A handful of times, he felt her hand burning cold against his fevered skin. He swore he felt her lips press to his forehead once, too. Another time, she was stroking his hair and singing to him.

When Beth was singing, her lullaby worked itself into his dream. It was an awful dream, a fever dream, featuring Merle. Not his living brother, but Merle once he had risen from the dead, blood dripping down his chin. For once, Beth's voice brought him no comfort.

Somehow, though, he had slept through Beth removing his shirt. He had no idea how.

When he managed to pull himself fully from sleep, he was surprised to find himself shirtless beneath the covers. He was equally surprised to find Beth asleep beside him. she held one of his hands in hers, with the back of his pressed to her lips.

He reached over, using his free hand to tuck a strand of her hair behind her ear. His touch startled Beth, causing her to jump a little in her sleep. Her eyes flew open, but when she saw him awake, she smiled against their clasped hands.

"I couldn't get your fever to break," she whispered to him. "You weren't much help in getting your shirt off."

"Sorry," he whispered back. The sun was setting. Golden light filtered through a crack in the windows. Daryl tucked his thumb between their hands, tracing a line across the length of Beth's little palm.

"I'll forgive you, considering. How do you feel?"

He didn't see any reason to lie to her. "Like shit."

That made her giggle. She sat up, drawing her hand away from his as she did so. Then she leaned over him, resting one hand on his chest to balance herself as she reached for a glass of water beside their bed.

"Here. You need to stay hydrated."

Daryl managed to prop himself up on his elbow and gulp down the water. Beth watched, making sure he drank every drop.

It took him a moment to realize there was a fire going in the hearth. "Did you…?"

She nodded, her blond hair tumbling around her face. "I was careful. I took the crossbow."

He knew that scolding her would do no good. And really, was there any reason to? She had taken care of what needed to be done. This Beth he was coming to know was entirely different than the one he had met on Hershel's farm. Instead, he nodded at her.

"Do you want some soup? I found a can of chicken noodle in the pantry." She was already up, padding across the floor in her sock feet. A pot and the can of soup were in her hand before he had given an answer.

In their early days in the house, Daryl had constructed a metal shelf of sorts that sat over the flames inside the fireplace. Beth poured the can of soup into the pot and carefully positioned it over the flames. She sat down in front of the fire, to watch over the soup. Daryl rolled onto his side, so he was facing her back.

She was not so far away that she was out of reach. He extended his hand, again touching her hair. Daryl ran his fingers through the length of her ponytail, watching how her shoulders relaxed under his touch.

If he had to be sick, then being sick here, with Beth to take care of him…Daryl figured his hand of cards wasn't all that bad.

* * *

It took a week for Daryl to feel well again. A week of bed rest, which Beth insisted upon. A week of anxiously waiting for her to come back every time she went out to get more wood or check the traps he had set after the last blizzard.

A week of Beth fussing over him. A week of falling asleep to her reading or singing.

When that week was up, Daryl could only think of one way to repay her. He had found an old wash basin in the basement—a different one than Beth washed dishes and did laundry in. This one was old, but clean, obviously from a time long forgotten.

He figured she would appreciate a proper bath, rather than the sink-baths they gave themselves every few days.

"What's that for?" Beth asked, looking up from the sheet music she was studying. She had decided to teach herself some new songs from the song books she found in the hollowed-out space beneath the piano bench.

"You'll see," was all the hint he gave.

Though Beth still sat at the piano, her song book in her hand, she watched Daryl intently. First, he took some of the larger pots and took them outside. From the window, he watched him fill the pots with clean snow. Then Daryl set each pot over the fire, waiting for the snow to melt and the water to boil a little before dumping it into the basin.

Beth knew well the contents of the bathroom. She knew they had no medicine, but a few bottles of astringents. The cabinet under the sink held soaps and shampoos, as well as scented bath salts. She was more than a little surprised when Daryl returned with some of these contents and poured some rose-scented bath salts into the steaming water.

She knew her eyebrows were scrunched in confusion, especially when Daryl used some pushpins—where had he even gotten those?—to hang some of the sheets from the ceiling.

"Seriously, what are you doing?"

"You would find out a lot faster if you stopped askin' questions, woman." He peeked over his shoulder in time to catch the contentious look on her face. It only made him smile, though. He held a towel out to her once he finished hanging the sheets. "You wanna take a real bath or not?"

As realization dawned on her, Beth's eyes lit up in the firelight.

"Really?" This, she knew, was something Daryl considered frivolous and unnecessary. Even as a wide smile crossed her lips, she almost couldn't believe it was happening.

"Yeah. I'll keep watch, but I don't think anythin' will be visiting us tonight." There was no snow, but the wind was howling outside. Beth bounced onto her feet, taking the towel from him.

"Thank you!" In her excitement, she leaned forward and kissed his cheek as she went by. Behind the curtains, the fire and steam from the water made the little space warm. Beth kicked off her boots and peeled off her socks before making quick work of her pants and underwear. She stepped into the basin with her upper half still clothed, relishing in the feel of the hot water around her feet. When she had shed all of her clothing, she piled her hair into a bun atop her head and sunk into the water.

God bless Daryl Dixon.

The bath salts had turned the water silky and sweet-smelling. Beth was still sore from her week of chopping down trees, and the liquid warmth eased the stiffness from her muscles. She sunk down as far as she could in the wide basin, enjoying the feel of the water.

Beth took her time scrubbing herself truly clean. This bath, which Daryl had put a lot of work into, was the most luxurious thing to happen to her since the world ended. By the time she was satisfied, Beth's skin was sunburn pink but felt scrubbed new. She stayed in the basin until the water started to go cold.

Sighing, she lifted herself from the water. Still standing with her feet in the basin of water, Beth wrapped the towel around herself. She was wonderfully warm, between the water and the fire, and took her time drying off, too. By the time she had dressed and pulled down the blanket-curtain before the fire, Daryl was in bed.

He was still healing from whatever sickness had struck him.

That night, when Beth slid into bed beside him, she smelled of roses and the crispness of snow. Her skin was radiating warmth from her bath. In his sleep, Daryl reached for her, pulling him close to him.

Beth giggled quietly, settling into her place beside him.

* * *

It was obvious when Daryl truly felt better.

His color was back, and his eyes were no longer tinged with red. He pulled on his leather vest first, before slinging his crossbow over his shoulder.

"Beth," he called out to her. She had woken up just a little while before and was washing her face. "You comin'?"

He waited for Beth to button up her coat and pull on her gloves. "Let's go."

They were lucky Daryl was feeling better. Beth had cleared the entirety of what constituted the 'yard' around the house of young saplings. The two of them were hurting for more firewood in a winter that had given no indication of letting up any time soon.

"We can't take too many from around here," he told her, leading her deeper into the woods. "Cover's too important to sacrifice."

"I feel bad I cut down all the baby trees." Daryl looked at her in time to catch her pout.

"You woulda felt worse if we turned into walkers after we froze." She rolled her eyes at his back. The snow was deep. Beth made a game of placing her steps in the holes Daryl's left behind.

"Not with that smart mouth, I wouldn't."

As was their routine, she covered him while he chopped down a new tree. There was nothing to cover Daryl _from_ , though. With the howling winds from a few days past gone, the land was eerily quiet.

"Where do you think everything is?"

"Animals are probably hunkered down in snowbanks," Daryl told her between swings. "With any luck, the walkers are plain frozen over."

Once, when Beth was very little, a blizzard had come over them so quickly that her father hadn't had time to shelter the horses before it began. She remembered the way they had frozen to the ground, how Daddy had to cover their noses with his hands to melt the ice. The horses had looked eerie, so still, when they were usually running and prancing.

Thinking about walkers frozen in place, grotesque and silent, made her shiver.

"You good?" Daryl asked, not even looking over his shoulder. Not for the first time, Beth was surprised at how easy it was for him to guess her moods.

"Thinking about frozen walkers," she answered honestly. "Can you imagine? They would be so freaky."

"They would be easier to kill." Certainly not for the fist time in her life, Beth rolled her eyes at Daryl's back. "Try to tell me I'm wrong."

Daryl, she had come to learn, was full of teasing beneath his hard exterior. Unfortunately, Beth couldn't tell him he was wrong. But she could scoop up a handful of snow and lob it at him. which she did.

The ax nearly slipped from Daryl's hands in his surprise when the hastily made snowball exploded against his arm. Beth pressed a glove to her mouth to stifle her laughter, coating her own mouth in a thin layer of snow.

"Woman!" He chastised her, but she could see the way his eyes shined. "We ain't got time for friendly fire."

Beth shrugged, feeling the weight of the crossbow on her shoulder. It had long been her job to cover Daryl while he worked. Still, though, the crossbow was very much his. She liked to feel the weight of it, finding an odd comfort in it.

While Daryl swung the ax, Beth watched the snow fall lazily around them. She took a deep breath in, the cold, clean air stinging her lungs a bit. Her breath puffed in front of her when she exhaled.

The trees around them were coated with snow and ice. It sparkled, vaguely, in the weak light seeping through the snow clouds over head.

"I wish it were always like this."

Daryl didn't respond. It wasn't until Beth turned toward him that she realized the ringing sound the ax made when it hit the tree had ceased. Instead, Daryl was watching her.

"Me, too."

* * *

One night, Beth woke Daryl long before his watch was set to start.

"Come outside with me."

Her eyes were bright with excitement; that was clear even in the dark. She tugged at his hand, drawing him away from the warm spot she had left in the bed when she left hardly an hour ago.

"Better be good," he grumbled, unhappy with being woken from sleep.

"It is! It's a meteor shower."

Daryl did not possess the words to explain to Beth how little he cared about the stars. He let her pull him from bed and shrugged into his jacket anyway. She held his hand the entire time she led him outside.

"Look," she whispered, reverent. The night sky was streaked with lights. All the clouds that had haunted the sky during the day had cleared, providing a view that suddenly made Daryl feel small. "Isn't it beautiful?"

Now he didn't have the words to tell her he agreed.

When Beth shifted to press her back against him, resting her head against his shoulder, Daryl didn't protest. He wrapped his arm around her waist, pulling her closer to him.

"Yeah," he agreed after a beat. There was a swelling feeling in his chest that Daryl wasn't exactly familiar with. It nearly choked him. He cleared his throat with a noise that came out as a cough.

"Are you too cold?" Beth asked, tipping her head back to look at him.

"Nah," he mumbled. "Watch the sky."

She pulled his other arm around her, snuggling herself even closer. That swelling feeling returned, and Daryl did his damnedest to ignore it.

* * *

It was Beth who kissed him first.

Daryl had been sitting in the rocking chair, reading an encyclopedia. He was trying his damnedest to work out how he might manage ice fishing on a nearby river. With one hand, he held the book open before him. He was biting the thumb of his free hand in concentration.

Beth let herself into the back door, home from checking the traps. Since Daryl had been sick, she had asserted her abilities to help. Somehow, Daryl was so engrossed in the book and his planning thoughts that, even with his hunter's ears, he hadn't realized she was back.

The traps had been empty. That had given her plenty of time to think. While she stared at the empty wire traps, her mind flipped back and forth. By the time she reached the back door, she was in the affirmative again…and she decided to act on it before she faltered again.

Taking big steps, she managed to cross the living room floor to him in six strides. She counted, to keep herself calm. His eyes hadn't even flicked up from the book.

The book, which she pushed down to get his attention. Only then did he look up, surprise coloring his eyes.

"What're you—" he started, but Beth didn't give him a chance to finish. She cupped his face in her little hands, angling it upward. She brought her lips to his before he could form another word.

Vaguely, Beth was aware of the encyclopedia hitting the floor. She was _entirely_ aware of his hands gripping her hips, pulling her forward and into his lap. Those same hands moved upward, spanning her waist as he settled her.

Beth had thought Daryl felt hot when the fever burned through him, but she was mistaken. Now she felt that she herself might be burned as his lips moved against hers. She was light-headed and nearly dizzy by the time she pulled away from him.

They were both breathing heavily. Daryl had his head tipped back, meeting her gaze. Her hand still cupped his face; she ran her thumb along his cheek bone.

"What were you reading about?" As the realization of what she had done sunk in, Beth felt a blush bloom in her cheeks. She scrambled for something to diffuse the situation—but just a little. If she were being honest, she was enjoying this moment more than she could have imagined when she was daydreaming in the snow, checking traps.

"Ice fishing," he mumbled, looking more than a little dazed himself.

"Oh. That's useful."

"Yeah." He punctuated that single word by pressing his hand into the small of her back, drawing her in to kiss her again.


	4. Winter Song: February

**-February-**

* * *

Some days, the wind and snow blew so loud and constant that Daryl was sure he was liable to lose his mind. Not only did the constant whine of the wind leave him with headaches pounding behind his eyes, the monotonous days drew Beth into herself.

On those days, she opted not to read or play piano. She didn't even hum. Instead, she sat beside the window despite the cold. Her eyes stared forward, and her hand slid under the sleeve over her left wrist, worrying over the scar there.

Daryl didn't have to ask where the scar was from. He remembered that day on the farm, all the racket it caused. Maggie's anger at Andrea had been a fierce thing. During the humid days at the prison, Daryl had seen the scar plenty of times, winking first pink and then silvery every time Beth reached for something.

"These blizzards are gonna drive me crazy." Her words were so soft that Daryl nearly didn't hear them. He looked up from the arrows he was crafting, narrowing his eyes. Beth sat so still he could almost imagine he hadn't heard her speak.

Putting his arrows aside, Daryl pushed himself to his feet.

"C'mon," he said, hooking his hand under Beth's arm. He pulled her up to her feet. "Starin' at it's not gonna do you any good."

He pulled the curtains shut tight. It wasn't like the sun was visible to give them light, anyway. Daryl brought Beth with him, closer to the fire. He hoped the warmth might put some color back into her cheeks.

"You're liable to catch your death, sittin' in the window all the time." She gave him one of her petulant looks, the ones she did so well. He grabbed the first book he saw; Beth left them everywhere, bookmarks in all of them. She bounced from book to book so often that he couldn't keep straight all the stories she read out loud to him.

Now he pressed one into her hands. "Read to me."

Soon enough, Beth's voice and the scraping of his knife against wood replaced the sounds of the wind. Still, Beth held the book with her left hand…so that she might still run her fingers over her wrist with her right. Daryl didn't see a reason to point it out so long as she kept reading.

He had learned, over these many days with Beth, that nothing that sat so heavy in her head would stay there for long. It would come out eventually, when she was ready to say something about it.

That time didn't come until they had settled into their shared bed. With the wind still howling outside, Daryl saw no use in keeping watches. Nothing was likely to come up through the night, living or otherwise.

Since the first time Beth kissed him, she insisted on kissing him each morning and night. It took Daryl some getting used to, but he never argued with her either. They had also abandoned all pretenses when going to bed.

Now, Beth kissed him before slipping under the covers and fitting herself to his side. She pressed her cheek to his chest, snuggling her face against it.

"I used to think," she began, her voice soft and wavering, "that they were still people, just like Daddy did. It broke my heart when Mama and Shawn got killed the second time."

The Greene family farm felt like several lifetimes ago to Daryl. He had to wrack his mind for several seconds to recall that Beth's mother and brother had been among the walkers in Hershel's barn.

"They never would have been the same," Daryl said after a beat, when he realized Beth was waiting for him to speak. "Merle wasn't. But…"

He cut himself off here. There was something about Beth—he still wasn't quite sure what it was—that made him say more than he meant to.

"But?" Beth prompted, lifting her head from his chest to meet his eye. Daryl sighed. He would have to continue now. She would pester him until she got the rest out of him.

"I dunno. I think he knew me, still. Merle reached for me, but he didn't try to bite me. I think…he was askin' for me to end it for him." He closed his eyes against the memory, but that only conjured Merle more clearly. There he was once more, gray skinned and yellow eyed, reaching for Daryl no matter how many times he pushed Merle away. Daryl didn't realize the memory had made him shiver until Beth tucked the blankets in more snuggly around him.

"Maybe he was," Beth agreed. "I can't imagine how anyone would want to live that way. Before he…decomposed more…Jimmy used to pull at the barn doors. He got it open once. Daddy had to put a chain on the outside doors for a while after that."

Her fingers idly played with the buttons on his shirt. It was far too cold to sleep without layers of clothing, even together—though Beth had her doubts that Daryl would, anyway. He was always concerned about being ready at a moment's notice.

"I was so stupid," she breathed more than spoke, her voice was so soft and breathy. Beth lifted her arm, exposing her wrist to him. In the pale firelight, he saw the thin, crooked scar running its path along her skin. "I thought I would be with them again, somehow. I just missed them so much. Daddy's with them now, or I hope he is. Now I miss him, too, and Maggie. And Glenn…all the others."

The hot tears soaking through his shirt was the only indication that Beth was crying. Her breath didn't hitch; her voice didn't crack. She sighed, hugging herself tighter to him.

"Beth…" Besides her name, Daryl was at a loss as to what to say. Talking about feelings; hell, talking in general was not part of his childhood. It was uneven ground for him, and if there was one thing Daryl did know, it was that he hated unsure footing.

"I try not to think about it. But days like this make it hard." Unlike Daryl, Beth had no problem letting her emotions tumble out of her mouth. "Do you think we'll see them all again?"

"'Course we will." It was the only placating words he could think of. That seemed enough for Beth. She sighed again, deeper this time, and tipped her head forward. Daryl felt Beth press her lips to his jaw.

* * *

Working by the murky light of the old flashlight, Daryl was elbows deep in cleaning a deer. It was a small thing, but the best he was able to do in this cold, wind-filled winter. Even now, though no snow fell, the wind howled outside.

Under the current of nature's wail, he could hear Beth playing piano. It wasn't a song he had her play before. This was something fast, and deep-toned, without lyrics, apparently. The melody ended abruptly, replaced by her footsteps on the hardwood floors overhead.

"Hey, Daryl?" She called down to him. When he looked over his shoulder, he could just make out her pale face in the trapdoor opening that led to the cellar.

"Yeah?" Even without looking, his hands knew well what to do. He slid his knife forward, cutting through tendon and sinew to separate the meat from the bones. Beth's face twisted at the wet sounds that accompanied the cleaning.

"Ugh, that's so gross," she all but pouted, distracted by her disgust.

"You grew up on a _farm_ ," Daryl shook his head. "Shouldn't you be used to this?"

"I used to help Daddy pop the heads off quail, until Maggie told me what exactly it was I was doing." She must have been laying down on the floor; her head came to rest on her folded arms.

Daryl shook his head and turned back to the deer and his work at hand.

"What're you doin', anyway?"

"Talking to you. I got bored."

"You could come help."

Beth made a great impersonation of gagging at that suggestion. When Daryl looked over his shoulder again, Beth had rolled onto her back. Her ponytail spilled over the edge of the trapdoor, creating a golden, waving waterfall.

"Isn't it freezing down there?"

"Yeah, but the deer's still warm inside." This time, Beth's gag had a much greater chance of being real.

"You're repulsive, Daryl Dixon."

"Try to tell me that later, when you've got your face mashed up on mine."

Her groan, he was sure, was supposed to let him know just how much she meant her words. Beth pushed herself to her feet, abandoning the conversation. After a few quick steps, the piano music began again, faster and louder this time.

Daryl couldn't help but smirk to himself in the almost-dark of the cellar.

* * *

Wearing three pairs of socks, Beth glided her way across the frozen river in an approximation of ice skating. Further down the river, Daryl was stretched out on his stomach, attempting to carve a hole into the ice for ice fishing.

"I didn't think you were _really_ going to try it," Beth said, gliding close to Daryl. He peeked up at her, watching the way the pale winter sunlight made her glow. She was a person made for the sun, he was sure. Her mood had risen considerably since the sun had reappeared two days ago.

"If I can manage it, fish'll be a more reliable source of meat."

Of course, he didn't have the tools actually listed in the encyclopedia entry he had read. Daryl was making do with handcrafted tools, as he had for most of his life. The ice was thick, but not ungiving, and he was making steady progress with expanding the hole while Beth played.

He didn't fear either walkers nor the living in such a frozen place. Sneaking up on someone would be damn near impossible with the hardpacked snow crunching below a person's weight.

She slid alongside him, parallel, conjuring a tiny breeze. Beth's socks had given her considerable speed. Daryl was all too happy to let her play in the winter sunlight if it meant she would stop worrying over the scar on her wrist.

* * *

For someone who always complained about the cold, Beth's little hands always left burning trails along Daryl's skin. A line of fire blazed when she drew her fingertips ever so lightly along the ride of his cheekbone, down, down, down to follow the line of his jaw.

"Daryl," she whispered to him. He had been sleeping, but wakefulness pulled him upward. Sunlight met his eyes when he worked them open. How long had Beth let him sleep?

He remembered, eventually, that he had been taking a nap. One that Beth had insisted on, when the constant howling of the wind over the past three days had grown into a migraine in the space between his eyes. That had been hours earlier, in the dreary, gray morning.

When his eyes adjusted to the sunlight, they landed on Beth's smiling face. "The wind stopped."

" _That's_ what you woke me up for?" He asked, not bothering to hide his grumpiness as his mind emerged fully from sleep. Daryl reached out for her, hooking his arm around her waist to pull her down onto the bed with him. Giggling, Beth let herself fall forward, bringing their faces close together.

She wasn't wrong. It was quiet now, and that silence felt weird on his ears when he had grown so used to the wind. He had no time to think about that, though. Instead, Beth closed the distance between them.

There was that hot little hand again, cupping his cheek. He was still holding onto her waist, making it easy for him to tuck her underneath him. Daryl ran his hand through her hair—loose for once—as he kissed her back in earnest. Beth's back arched, bringing herself flush against him in their warm, quiet bed.

Daryl was fairly certain they would get themselves in trouble one of these days.

* * *

Slow and melancholy. That's how Beth would describe the notes she was playing—and exactly how she felt. She was missing Maggie a lot.

Beth didn't allow herself to miss anyone else, anyone who was dead.

 _"This is my winter song to you, the storm is coming through, it rolls in from the sea."_

The song never held so much meaning to her until now.

 _"My voice a beacon in the night, my words will be your light, to carry you to me."_

She knew she really couldn't complain too much. One look around the cozy house and she knew she was luckier than most in this broken world. Fish popped and sizzled over the fire, filling the room with a smell that made her mouth water even as she sang. If she happened to look over her shoulder, Beth knew that she would see Daryl stretched out along the floor, keeping an eye on their dinner as it cooked.

Or, at least, Beth assumed he would be. In reality, the majority of Daryl's attention was focused on her.

 _"They say that things just cannot grow, beneath the winter snow. Or so I have been told."_

Maggie seemed impossibly far from her. Perhaps it was foolish hope and naivete, but…somehow, in her heart, Beth knew her sister was still out there. Alive. Truly, heart-beating, alive.

 _"I still believe in summer days. The seasons always change, and life will find a way."_

That wasn't the end of the song, but Beth stopped singing there anyway. Her fingers kept moving over the keys, finishing the tune without the accompaniment of her voice. The music faded away into the quiet night. Though the winds remained, it hadn't snowed in a week. This small fact alone gave her the smallest bit of hope.

But what warmed her more than any summer sun was Daryl's hand coming to rest on her shoulder. She lifted her own hand from the keys, threading her fingers through Daryl's.

* * *

"Careful."

No new snow had fallen in two weeks by then, but it was still bitterly cold outside. So cold, some days, that it was hard to even speak to one another above the wind. But sometimes it was necessary, such as when Beth took a misstep and nearly sunk into the snowbank they were cresting. Only Daryl's hand hooked under her arm kept her from falling through the snow.

"Sorry," Beth murmured, though she was fairly sure the wind stole her word. She didn't bother to remind Daryl that her stiff, awkward steps were his fault. He had insisted, after all, that she bundle up more than usual for this scouting adventure.

Winter would be ending soon. At least, Daryl insisted it must—February was nearly over. Surely, once they slid into March, the weather would warm, and the snow would melt. They could be on the move again in just a handful of weeks.

They were scouting, looking for any hints of other people. The wind bit through their clothes, but they leaned into it. Beth followed Daryl as he led the way, trying to carve a path through the forest to the road.

Sometimes, the wind got caught between the trees. It created a brutal tunnel to try to walk through. In those moments, Daryl would reach behind him, extending his hand to Beth. Tethered by their clasped hands, heads bowed to the winter winds, making slow but steady progress.

Daryl was holding tightly to Beth's hand when they finally broke through the forest. Here, the wind was an enigma in itself. Beth only caught some of it, shielded as she was at Daryl's back. It stung her eyes, but the tears that leaked from them didn't get a chance to roll down her cheeks. They dried immediately.

Rubbing at her eyes with her free hand, Beth managed to clear her vision enough to notice something Daryl hadn't. It made her gasp, the cold air burning down her throat and into her lungs.

"Daryl! Look!"

How the paper sign had lasted through the winter, she had no idea. She held it down, stilling it long enough for Daryl to read it.

 _Terminus. Sanctuary for all. Community for all. Those who arrive survive._

Beneath it was a map, protected by a poster frame though the sign was not. A large star marked the location of Terminus, of the so-named sanctuary.

Though she was smiling, the cold air stinging her cheeks and lips, when she turned to look at Daryl, she found him regarding the sign with his blue eyes narrowed. Beth's smile began to falter, her eyebrows knitting together.

"They would go. You _know_ they would. Maggie and Glenn…Rick would take Carl and Judith."

Daryl didn't respond. Instead, he continued to scrutinize the sign. She watched his eyes rove over it before Daryl gave a small shake of his head.

"Nah, Beth…that shit's too good to be true."

"Even if it is," she began, already arguing. Beth gave his hand a squeeze. "Even if there is nothing there, and it's completely deserted, or overrun with walkers like the prison…or, I don't know, invaded with freakin' aliens…you can't tell me that our friends wouldn't see that sign and at least _try._ "

When he sighed, it made a cloud of mist in front of his face. "Woman, you're gonna be the death of me."

That was enough to bring the smile back to Beth's face. It wasn't much, but she knew she had him there.

And she knew she had him entirely when Daryl reached passed her, edging his fingers around the outside of the frame. He pulled it off the post it was mounted on carefully, tucking it under his arm.

When they got home, Beth stood on one of the kitchen chairs and took down the painting that had been hanging there for months. She wasn't all that sad to see the tranquil meadow scene go. She hung the map showing Terminus in its place.

Daryl stood behind her, shaking his head. He didn't share Beth's enthusiasm, but at the same time, he hated to take it from her. Instead, he came up behind her, scooping her off the chair and making her laugh.

There was still deep snow on the ground. He wouldn't have to face the prospect of Terminus for weeks yet.

* * *

"Do you like candy?"

The question came out of nowhere. Or so it seemed to Daryl. The winds had made it easy to keep up with firewood; the frozen branches snapped under the pressure. While Beth was gathering branches, Daryl dug through their growing stash. He kept the straightest, strongest branches to fashion arrows out of.

"Find a candy shop out there or what?" Beth had been going fairly deep into the woods to gather the branches, but Daryl was unconcerned. He had already done a sweep of the area. Plus, Beth had her gun and her knife, and he himself wasn't far off from her.

She dumped the fresh pile of branches in front of him and rolled her eyes.

"A yes or no without your usual sass would suffice." Daryl picked up one of the branches he was saving and launched it at her. Beth didn't bother to dodge it, instead letting it bounce off her thigh.

"How are you going to make this candy?" He asked instead, just to annoy her further. Really, if the look she was giving him was any indication, he should have felt blessed she had yet to smother him in his sleep.

"Don't worry about that. You're not the only one who reads books, Daryl Dixon."

That was stating the obvious, but he didn't point that out, either. He was sitting in the snow himself, and mound of branches on either side of him. Reaching forward, he wrapped his hands around the backs of Beth's knees and pulled her forward.

This made her fall forward, into the snow and toward him. He quieted her little shriek of annoyance by pressing his mouth to hers.

"We're both going to be soaked," she chided him between kisses.

"I'll warm ya up later," he promised.

That night, Beth gathered clean snow and packed it into pots and pans. Over the fire, she heated up and melted a jar of molasses she had found in the pantry. She dripped the liquid molasses over the snow, creating designs as she did so. The molasses sizzled when it hit the snow, seizing up into a solid.

Beth plucked up a flower-shaped piece of candy with her fingers. Turning away from the fire and toward Daryl, she offered it to him where he lounged on their bed.

Rather than take the candy, his fingers closed around her wrist. Daryl brought her hand closer to him, eating the candy straight from her fingers. Beth tried—and failed—not to shiver at the touch of his lips against her skin.

The molasses candy started to melt against his tongue as he met her eye. It filled his mouth with sweetness as he watched the blush rise in her cheeks.

Only then did he answer her question from earlier. "Yeah, I like candy just fine."

* * *

 **A/N:** I wanted to explore Beth a little bit more this time, for whatever reason. She always struck me as an interesting character-the undercurrents of melancholy, though on the surface, she was a bright-smiled girl. Her sometimes carefree nature; her developing strength as she learned to survive in the world. I just loved Beth, okay?!

Also exploring Daryl as he was at the time. Still some of that teasing, smart-ass we saw peeks of in season 1 and 2. Plus, writing him as a romantic partner of Beth-and how the dynamics of that would work between them-is always fun.


	5. Winter Song: March

**-March-**

* * *

Daryl had let himself become spoiled. He knew it, and yet…he couldn't bring himself to change his newfound habits. Never before had he so appreciated a soft bed, warm blankets, and another person curled up beside him.

 _I'm watchin' out the windows, at least,_ he tried to convince himself. And he did. Daryl made sure to lift his head up from his pillow and look toward the windows every now and then. Mostly, though, he stared at the wall without thinking about anything in particular, holding Beth as she slept.

She was a little thing, but she radiated warmth where she lay curled beside him. Her hand had worked itself partially into his shirt, fingers slipping through the gaps in buttons to rest against his skin. Beth's cheek was pressed to his shoulder, one leg thrown between his. Daryl twisted the tail of her braid between his fingers and listened to her soft breathing.

These were the best early morning watch duties he had ever spent.

* * *

The snow started to melt nearly one week into March—or, at least, what Beth's calendar called March. Patches of snow stayed frozen and strong where shadows fell; the east side of the house, in the shadows of trees. As the earth thawed, so did the walkers.

"That has to be the tenth one today and it's not even noon," Beth groaned. She rolled her eyes before moving her checker, jumping over two of Daryl's.

"Spendin' the winter frozen over didn't preserve their brains any." When the walkers thawed out, they went on their way roaming the land for something living to eat. "Joints must be stiff."

Yet another walker bumped into the house to punctuate Daryl's words. He leaned over and jumped three of Beth's pieces in a row, landing on her side of the board. "King me. What do I get for kickin' you ass in checkers, again?"

This time when Beth rolled her eyes, it was directed at him. "I don't remember promising you anything."

"I'll just pick once I knock all them red pieces off this board."

Beth didn't doubt he would have, if it weren't for the walker that managed to fall through the window just then.

"Son of a bitch," Daryl cursed, on his feet before the first word had even passed through his lips. The sound of glass shattering made Beth jump. She recovered herself quickly, pushing herself to her feet to follow Daryl.

The window the walker broke through, thankfully, hadn't been in the living room. It was a back-bedroom window. Bouncing onto her tiptoes, Beth could just see over Daryl's shoulder to get a good look at the walker. Shards of glass stuck out of its skin, catching the sunlight and throwing sparkles around the room.

She wasn't sure when Daryl had grabbed the crossbow, but as if by magic, it was in his hands. The arrow he launched from the crossbow lodged itself into the walker's head before Beth could take another breath.

"We gotta board it up fast. There's some two-by-fours down cellar. Bring 'em up to me, and I'll start hammering."

The urgency in his voice made it clear that there was no room for hesitation. He didn't have to tell her twice; the memory of the house nearly overrun with walkers when they had first arrived was still fresh in her mind, despite the months. Beth ran down the hallway, threw open the trap door to the cellar, and started to lower herself down the ladder two at a time. As quickly as she could, Beth started lugging the boards close to the cellar door. When she had amassed a sizeable pile, she began throwing the boards upward, launching them through the opening.

She nearly launched _herself_ through the opening shortly after, making a stack of boards and trying to haul them to Daryl. He met her at the doorway to that bedroom, helping carry the load. While Beth held the board steady, Daryl began to hammer it into place.

"We gotta get this in place before more walkers get here," Daryl mumbled to himself more than to Beth. "Bastard was loud as hell. I'm sure his friends are comin'."

Sure enough, before they had the second board secured in place, they could both hear the growls of walkers drawing nearer.

"Shit." They both said it, nearly at the exact same time. Were it not for the urgency of the situation, Daryl might have teased her for picking up his habits with cussing. As it was, instead he slammed the hammer into the hand of a walker that tried to reach through the destroyed window. The entire limb broke off at the elbow, falling limply to the ground.

"That's gross," Beth pointed out, lifting the third board and lining it up with the others. This blocked the window just enough for her hammering heart to slow down some. Walkers were still bumping into the boards, as Beth could easily feel and hear, but luckily none of them had the brains left to think to crouch.

"We're lucky they're so stupid most of the time." Even with immediate danger eliminated, Daryl didn't slow down one bit. In record time, he had two final boards nailed in place.

The adrenaline and urgency with which the two had worked left them both sweaty and short of breath. Beth looked at their work, at the walker arm on the floor. She nudged it with her boot, almost expecting it to still move. It didn't, of course, but she still held her breath for a moment. Only when the arm proved itself immobile did Beth look up to meet Daryl's eyes.

Daryl closed the distance between them in one large step. He pulled Beth into his arms. She shuddered against him, the excitement of what they had just done draining from her. After a few moments, Beth relaxed into him.

This was the calm after the storm, this steadying of each other.

* * *

Deer jerky and dried berries wrapped in clean fabric.

Clothing in the best condition washed and hung to dry around the house.

Only the most useful canned foods lined up on the table.

A stack of arrows ready for the quiver.

The snow outside had nearly melted entirely, and they were making preparations to leave. Beth wasn't quite sure how she felt about that. Looking around the cozy little house that had gotten them through the winter, she felt her chest grow tight at the thought of never seeing it again.

"I think today's my birthday."

 _My pretty spring blossom,_ her father used to say. Now he was gone. Maggie could be, too, for all she knew.

"I'll be sure to bake you a cake later," Daryl didn't glance up from where he was looking through their medicine stash. He held a bottle of ibuprofen in one hand, and a bottle of Tylenol in the other. She knew he was scrutinizing the dates and the number of pills left in the bottles, trying to decide which would be better to take with them.

Beth shot a hair tie at him, the little ring of elastic bouncing off his cheek. "You're a brat."

"I know," Daryl picked up the hair tie and shot it back at her. She wasn't fast enough; it bounced off her head mid-duck. "You've been tellin' me for months."

"That's because it's _true._ "

Last night had been hard on both of them. With the walker falling through the window, Beth and Daryl had found themselves on edge. Neither of them had slept much that night, the sounds of walkers bumping around outside pulling them from shallow sleep.

"Take a nap," Daryl suggested after Beth's third huge yawn. "It's quieter today."

And it had been. Since the walker fell through the window, they had made sure to only speak in whispers, keep away from the windows, and not use any candles. There efforts hadn't been for nothing; since the sun had come up, the walkers had dwindled to nothing.

It didn't take much convincing, though. Beth wandered over to him, bending down to kiss him before dramatically throwing herself onto the bed. "If you insist…"

Daryl reached over, untying her boots for her and slipping them off her feet. As soon as her feet were free, Beth rolled away from him, cocooning herself in blankets. Shaking his head, Daryl waited for her breathing to even out as she fell into sleep. Once he was certain she was out, he pushed himself to his feet and made his way out the door.

There was no snow left for Daryl to melt. Despite Beth's insistence that he was a brat, he was pretty certain a brat wouldn't spend his time hauling buckets of water up from the riverbanks.

A brat wouldn't have boiled the river water over the fire to make it warm. Or poured in some bubble bath, swishing his hand through the water to stir up the bubbles. Would a brat build a fire, so Beth wouldn't be cold after her bath? Probably not.

She had said it was her birthday—or close to it—and one of their last nights in the house. Daryl figured that was occasion enough

He woke Beth from her nap by running his fingers through her hair. She woke slowly, turning her face toward his touch. Daryl's hand was warm against her cheek, and when her eyes fluttered open, she saw that he was sitting on the bed beside her, one of his rare smiles playing at his lips.

"Hey," she murmured sleepily, reaching out to Daryl. She found purchase on his sleeves, pulling him down to the bed with her.

"Hey yourself, sleepyhead." Beth curled herself into him, relishing the light kiss he placed to her forehead. But she wasn't meant to stay in bed, despite her trying to hold Daryl there. Ignoring her stubborn attempts, Daryl wrapped his arm around her and pulled her up so that she was sitting in his lap.

Pushing errant locks of hair away from her face, Beth slowly realized why Daryl was making her wake up. "You made me a bath again!"

"I couldn't figure out how to bake a cake with canned beans, so I figured this would do."

That was all the motivation it took for Beth to abandon Daryl in their bed, slipping behind the blanket curtains Daryl had hung up for her. Beth shed her clothes quickly, eager to sink into the warm, soapy water.

She dunked her head, combing through her tangles with her fingers. Baths had really become a luxury in her new life, and any bath that she didn't have to take in a cold river or stream was a huge plus in Beth's book. Beth hadn't had a bath like this since the winter, after she had nursed Daryl back to health.

With the fire burning in the hearth, Beth lingered in the bath until the water lost all its warmth. Only then did she pull herself from it, relishing in the clean feeling of her skin and the floral scent the soap had left behind. She was almost sad to slip back into her clothing.

What made Beth the saddest, though, was the realization that this was drawing to an end. Once the nights were warm enough to eliminate the fear of frost, they would be on the move.

* * *

"To Terminus." Beth said just days later. The morning sun was playing in her hair, which she had pulled into two tight French braids. She lifted her glass, waiting for Daryl to clink his own against it.

"Terminus," he obliged her. In sync with one another, they each threw back the fifth of whiskey Daryl had poured into their cups. He had been saving the bottle for this moment, an echo to the burning shack they had left before finding this house.

Beth's face scrunched against the burn of the alcohol. She stuck her tongue out, making Daryl chuckle. "Ugh, that was gross."

Along with their glasses, Beth left the key to the front door sitting on the porch step. She covered the key with her hand for a moment, feeling the cool metal press against her palm. The farm, the prison, this house. She couldn't seem to stop losing homes.

"Take care of whoever comes next," she whispered to the key, the house. Before they had left—taking only what they had decided was necessary—Beth had cleaned the house, leaving it ready for new tenants.

Now she straightened, despite the sadness weighing on her, and turned to Daryl. The way the morning sun cut across his face, it illuminated his eyes brighter than the blue spring sky above them. Stepping closer to him, Beth cupped his face between her palms and bounced onto her tiptoes to kiss him.

She could taste the aftermath of his whiskey on his lips, a shadow of the burn when she had drunk her own. He wrapped his arm around her, pressing her body closer to his. Too soon, always too soon, he pulled away from her. The travels ahead were dominating Daryl's mind, Beth knew.

"Gun in hand while we walk," he reminded her, leaning down to pick up the backpack they had prepared. He settled the weight of it on her back for her before slinging his crossbow across his own. Beth took a deep breath as she watched him, the clean spring air filling her lungs.

"We're on the road again." She said it softly, more to herself than to Daryl. Despite all the packing they had done over the past few days, hearing herself say it aloud made it more real than anything. She hung back for a moment, watching Daryl walk away from the house. He had made it to the tree line before he realized Beth wasn't following him.

"Beth," he called to her, making her name sound like an offer. Daryl reached a hand out to her. "Let's go."

Beth took one more deep breath. With one last look over her shoulder at the house, she turned her back on it entirely. A few quick steps brought her back to Daryl, and she slipped her hand into his.

"Okay." A bright smile spread across her face. "I'm ready. Let's go."

* * *

 **A/N:** Hi, friends! I'm sorry this took so long to get out. This _is_ the end of _Winter Song_ , but for all of y'all who have enjoyed this little story...would y'all be interested in me extending it? I think it would be fun to follow this thread of Bethyl through a whole year. Since this story is already called _Winter Song_ , I was thinking of having three more sets of stories over the course of the hypothetical year, each one focusing on a season. Thoughts?

Also, a huge thank you to everyone who has read and reviewed this story! It was a lot of fun to write. Beth and Daryl are one of my all-time favorite couples.


	6. Exeunt: March

**-Exeunt: March-**

* * *

Spring meant warmer weather, blooming flowers, and an abundance of sunshine. It also meant a shift in focus of priorities. Beth was sad to see the decline in tender moments between herself and Daryl, as being out in the open made survival the main priority. Which she understood, but at the same time…

Beth sat with her back resting against a tree trunk, eating a piece of the rabbit Daryl had shot the night before. While she ate, she studied Daryl and the way he moved as he hung up the sound traps around their camp. He had taken his vest off, and his back muscles showed through the threadbare plaid shirt he wore.

She chewed slowly, mentally cataloguing the way his shoulders moved. Beth was so focused on her inspection that she didn't realize he was talking to her.

 _"Beth,"_ the forceful tone of her name broke her of her thoughts.

"Huh?" she asked, lifting her eyes to Daryl's. He was smirking at her, making a blush spread in her cheeks when she realized she had been caught. "What?"

Her second question was much more irritated than the first, making Daryl chuckle.

"Nothin'." He didn't pause in his work, stringing up the noise traps all around the trees that encompassed their camp. Once he was finished, though, he made his way back to her, stepping over the loose pile of sticks and bark that would make their fire tonight. Daryl crouched in front of her, so close that her view was made up entirely of him.

She was still wearing that petulant expression, with her eyebrows drawn together and her pouted lips. There was a streak of dirt across her cheek, and her hair was starting to fall out of the braids she put them into just a handful of days ago. Still smirking, Daryl reached forward, placing his palms on her knees and letting them trail upward over her thighs.

"I asked if you wanted to get the fire goin'," he told her. She had her gaze level with his, one of her eyebrows arching upward as he spoke. "Seems to me you're a little too distracted, though."

"There's nothing to be distracted by out here," she countered. "We've been in this forest for _days._ Everything looks the same."

They were following the path Daryl had marked on the map, one that he hoped would lead them to this Terminus place Beth was so fixated on without running the risk of encountering other, larger groups.

"Alright," he conceded to her, but the smirk didn't leave his face. Where Beth had been enticed by him earlier, she now felt a growing annoyance at his teasing…until he moved forward even more, catching her mouth with his. Now that enticement was back, and Beth couldn't help but twist her fingers into his over-long hair, bringing herself up to her knees to bring herself closer to him.

He wrapped his arm around her waist, keeping her steady. But, as always, he pulled away too soon. The pout on her face made Daryl chuckle again. There was a fire that needed built, and if Beth wasn't going to do it, he would. She watched, arms crossed over her chest, as the same mouth that had just been working against hers now blew on a tiny flame to bring it to life. Between Daryl's hands—which had just been clinging to her—the fire crackled and grew until it was large enough to keep them warm.

Soon the flames had engulfed all the twigs and bark she had spent her afternoon collecting. They never stayed in a camp for longer than a night, so there was no need for a long-lived fire. Their days had quickly found a new routine. Beth knew Daryl would give her first watch, which was from sundown to what they guessed was around midnight; they marked it with the appearance of the Big Dipper overhead.

She hated the darkest parts of the night, and he knew that, which is why he always took second watch. They were in for another night under the stars, taking turns sleeping close to the fire while the other person got both the gun and the crossbow. That crossbow, which Daryl still had to load for her because she still struggled to pull the arrow into position.

Beth couldn't help her eye roll as she pulled her gun from her waistband and waited for Daryl to pass over the loaded crossbow. She settled back against her tree, knowing that there were many hours of quiet darkness ahead of her. They had been lucky since leaving the house; after clearing the area for their camps, they hadn't encountered any additional walkers through the nights.

"Hey," Daryl stooped again, to pass her the crossbow. When he did, he reached a hand out, cupping her cheek. His palm was rough with long-worn calluses, but she didn't mind. "Maybe we'll find a house tomorrow, if we're lucky. Or a shed. Somethin'. I know this sleeping outside thing ain't your favorite."

She turned her head, placing a kiss on his palm when she did. "Maybe."

Beth tried to smile for him. She combed her fingers through his hair until he fell into his usual light sleep. Only when his breathing evened out did she settle back and begin her watch.

* * *

Daryl had made sure that their path ran alongside the creek. Not even a full week into their journey, and Beth had insisted that they venture over, not for water, but to rinse off.

"Infection can kill someone just as quickly as a walker can."

"Where'd you learn that? Doctor school?" Daryl was on the creek bank, his back turned to her, keeping watch. Behind him, he knew that she had likely stripped down to her underwear for this creek bath. Beth took bathing seriously, but Daryl himself had advised her not to bathe in her clothing. They had only brought a handful of clothing items to rotate through, and though it was spring, it was early yet. He didn't want her in wet clothing while the weather was so iffy.

"Be a brat all you want, but you'll be thanking me when a tiny cut doesn't turn into blood poisoning before we get to Terminus."

Indeed, behind him, Beth was only in her bra and panties. She peeked over her shoulder again, making sure Daryl was true to his word about not turning around. When she was sure he would keep his back to her, she chanced dipping her toes into the cold water.

The creek was crystal clear, letting her know there was nothing but small fish hiding beneath its surface. It was too early in the spring for the sun to have warmed the creek any, and it was bitterly frigid. Still, Beth made herself submerge herself up to her calves in the water. This had been her idea, and she had come too far to back out now.

Taking a deep breath to brace herself, Beth plunged head on into the water before she could think better of it. The icy temperature stung against her skin, but if it meant she would be clean, she didn't mind so much. Sitting in that cold creek, she quickly scrubbed herself with her hands and rinsed through her hair.

Teeth chattering, Beth rushed from the creek, immediately wrapping herself in their shared towel. As quickly as she could, she swapped out her wet underwear for a dry set and pulled on her clothing.

"I hated th-that," she told Daryl. Except for her hair, she was dry now, but still shivering. "Your t-t-turn."

"Told you it was gonna suck." She tried to hand Daryl the towel, but he smirked and reached for her instead. "Lemme warm you up a little."

Beth didn't argue as he pulled her into his arms. She rested her head on his shoulder, letting herself be folded into his arms. He was much warmer than her; it only took a minute or two for the shivering to decrease. Rubbing his hands over her arms and back had her steady and warm in no time.

"How's your teeth?" He asked, and she picked her head up to smile at him.

"Better."

When Daryl stripped down, she took his shirt he had been wearing, layering it over her own. It was still warm from his body heat, and though it smelled of earth and fire smoke and sweat, she didn't mind. She would wash their clothes in the creek soon enough, once Daryl was done with his bath.

Again, as she had done a few nights before, Beth studied his back. Without his shirt, it was made clear that scars crisscrossed the skin there. A tattoo graced on shoulder, depicting winged beings in some kind of battle. She was too far away to make out if the fight was between angels, demons, or both.

Beth wasn't paying much attention to the scars or the tattoo, though. Pulling Daryl's shirt closer around herself, she studied the surety and fluidity with which Daryl moved. She knew how cold the water was herself, yet Daryl stepped into the creek as if it were warm and welcoming. Not for the first time, she marveled at how at peace Daryl behaved in the middle of the wilderness.

"I thought we had a 'no staring' rule going on here, Beth." She felt the blush begin to burn in her cheeks. "I didn't leave the crossbow over there for you to let it take a nap."

 _Damn him and his hunter's instincts._

* * *

Spring meant animals. For the most part, this was a great thing. Daryl was able to keep them steadily supplied with meat, so that they hadn't had to dip too heavily into their reserve of jerky he had made over the winter. Beth soon learned that the animals were useful in detecting walkers, too.

Out here in the woods, it was all too easy to notice how the animals fell silent when there were walkers in the area. When the birdsong stopped, Beth knew she needed to be on high alert. Daryl had taught her to pay attention to these things, and she did so always, especially when she was alone.

Daryl had gone to hunt, and there was a dandelion patch close to their temporary camp. Bored with sitting around, Beth had decided to pick these dandelions.

"We need to eat more than meat," she grumbled to herself, using the only bowl they had brought to collect the leaves. "Even if it's just dandelions."

The sun was warm on her back while she worked. It felt so good, after the cold of the winter, to feel herself warming back to life along with the Earth. Beth made sure to listen for the birds, as well as bigger threats—freshly woken bears, walkers, other humans. But what Beth _didn't_ realize she should have been looking out for was a little green snake weaving its way through the grass.

"Ow!" She yelled without meaning to, drawing her hand back when the snake had lunged and stuck her. Beth cradled her hand against her chest, searching for the culprit and coming up empty handed.

"Dammit, Beth!" Her head swiveled at the sound of Daryl's voice, watching him run toward her. He crouched down beside her, taking her bitten hand in his. Before she could say anything, Daryl had lifted her palm to his mouth, placing his lips over the bite.

 _He's trying to get any venom out,_ she realized.

Daryl continued this for a few seconds, until the bleeding in her hand had stemmed.

"Does it hurt?" He asked, face a mixture of worry and solemnity. "Anywhere besides the bite? Is it hurting or burning?"

"No," she promised, shaking her head. "Only the bite hurts."

Daryl turned her little hand over in hers, examining it. "We'll watch it, for swelling. I reckon it was just a field snake that got spooked. What're you doin' out here, anyway?"

Taking her other hand, Daryl pulled her to her feet. She nodded her head toward the little bowl, full of dandelion greens. "We gotta supplement our carnivore diet sometimes if we want to stay healthy out here."

He chuckled, stooping to pick up the bowl. Then he wrapped an arm around her waist, leading her back to their camp.

That night, running her finger over the clean bandage Daryl had wrapped around her hand, Beth watched him cook the rabbit he had caught. The firelight flickered over his features, smoke curling around his face. She glanced down at her bandaged hand.

 _He was really going to drink venom just to help me,_ she thought.

There was a swelling in her chest that she didn't quite understand. Beth pushed herself to her feet, walking closer to the fire.

"Hey," Daryl greeted her, eyes flicking up to meet hers. "What's up?"

"Nothing," she murmured, taking a seat beside him and laying her head on his shoulder. "I just wanted to sit with you."

* * *

"Beth, either you're gonna have to stitch it up for me, or I'm gonna heat up a knife and cauterize it."

Her hands were slick and hot from his blood, using one of her shirts to staunch the blood flow from the cut in his thigh. It felt like a flooding, broken dam beneath her palms, soaking through the shirt.

Being on the road had presented new levels of challenges. Such as spring rains making the ground muddy and insubstantial. Daryl had ventured into the little canyon ahead of her, to test the embankment for structural integrity, only to go sliding, cutting his leg on a jagged rock instead.

"I can't do it out here!" Beth argued. The stream was still close by; she could get water and boil it to clean the wound. But Daryl's jeans were filthy, and they had no other options than the muddy ground for her to work on. What if he caught infection? What it if it turned to blood poisoning?

He reached out to her, grimacing from the movement of his body. Daryl's hand cradled the side of her face, making her look him in the eye. "We ain't got any other choices."

As much as she hated it, she knew he was right. Beth pulled the peroxide from her backpack. Knowing the pain killers they had on hand would take too long to have any kind of effect before she started stitching, she opted to give Daryl a swig of the whiskey they still carried instead.

Her hands shook as she threaded the needle with fishing wire—the only thing they had. It would make stitches, sure, but it wouldn't be pretty.

"You gotta work fast," Daryl reminded her. "Before we end up with visitors."

Beth very nearly closed her eyes when she first pierced Daryl's skin with the needle. He groaned, body going rigid, but didn't cry out. Each pass and tug of the needle broke her heart, but watching how easily his skin pulled back together despite their rudimentary supplies bolstered her at the same time.

"Almost done," she promised, trying to be quick and gentle at once. This had been her father's work, not hers. When she reached the end of the cut, Beth tied off the wire, biting through it with her teeth. "There!"

She didn't take any time to admire her handiwork. Instead, she looked immediately at Daryl, taking in his pale, clammy face. His teeth were rattling from the pain, and yet his eyes were shining. Was that pride she caught in his expression, before she cupped her face again to kiss her?

* * *

 _Twenty more miles._ They could clear that in a handful of days. Travelling every day they could—even with Daryl's leg stitches, because he had insisted—had made them good time. It was only now the end of May, according to her calendar. Even with weather and injuries and all other obstacles accounted for, they had made great time.

 _Twenty more miles until Terminus._

 _Twenty more miles until Ma—_

No. She wouldn't let herself think of that. Those kinds of thoughts were dangerous, because they brought hope with them.

"Hey," Daryl whispered, moving into her beam of moonlight with her. They didn't really have to whisper, not in here—in a house! "Lookin' at that map again?"

"We're _so_ close." She whispered back to him, smiling all the while. He watched her finger trace the remainder of the path he had mapped out. "Twenty miles."

Her voice was reverent, like she was saying a prayer. Carefully, gently, Daryl worked her fingers lose, taking the map and setting it aside. Then he pulled her to him, enveloping her in his arms. She kissed him slowly, carefully moving into his lap, wary of his stitches as she straddled his thighs.

Daryl slowly ran his hands up her own, feeling her shiver under his touch. Over her hips, back arching as he continued his trail upward. His hand slipped under her shirt, burning against her bare skin. The little gasp that escaped her lips as Daryl's hands traced lazy patterns across her back did not go unnoticed.

"Just take it off," Beth whispered against his mouth, catching him by surprise.

"What?"

"You heard me. Take my shirt off, Daryl." He pulled away from her ever so slightly, tipping his head back to meet her eye. She had the higher ground here, positioned in his lap. But that didn't mean he couldn't win some of that ground back. Daryl did what she asked, but he did so slowly, letting his hands run lackadaisically along her waist to pull Beth's shirt over her head.

Now she was largely exposed to him, at least from the waist up, save for her bra. Her skin was pale in the moonlight, smooth and soft where his hands had come to rest along her hips. He moved one of his hands, positioning it just above the waist of her jeans, before travelling upward, over her chest, her neck, up to her face to run his thumb along her lower lip.

"Beth," he whispered into the dark, finding his voice had gone thick and husky.

"We're uneven here." Quick, nimble fingers worked over the buttons of his plaid shirt. There was no hesitation from either of them as she relieved him of his shirt. Not once did they break eye contact with each other, staring the other down as Daryl took a turn and unhooked Beth's bra.

Splaying his hand between her shoulder blades, Daryl drew Beth closer. He buried his face in the crook of her neck, his mouth working over her skin. Of its own accord, Beth was fairly certain, her hands wound themselves into his hair, knotting her fingers into the strands.

"Daryl," her voice was something between a whisper and a gasp.

"Hmm?" His own voice was muffled against her skin.

"I want you to make love to me."

This gave him pause, lifting his head from her chest. She looked down at him, eyes dark—smoldering, serious. Her request was not a frivolous one. There was no nervousness, no second-guessing in her gaze.

Not another word was exchanged between the two. Instead, Daryl shifted them until Beth lay beneath her. Their remaining clothing was quickly shed. Nothing but air separated them, until she pulled him down to kiss him and he pressed forward between her thighs.

He moved within her languidly, not in any hurry at all.

Beth was unsure how this was both satiating and starving a need she hadn't realized she had until this moment. Her leg hooked around his hip, pulling him deeper within her. When she first cried out, Daryl chuckled, muffling the sound with his palm and pausing in his efforts.

"Would this really be such a bad way to go?" Beth asked, her lips moving beneath his hand.

"I guess not," Daryl admitted. He pulled her close again.

To her credit, Beth did attempt to stifle her subsequent moans against Daryl's shoulder.

* * *

 **A/N:** Hello, friends.

I couldn't stay away. I love these two far too much.

So, while brainstorming and writing the next portion of the story, I have been listening to a lot of The Oh Hellos. I wanted to continue the musical title theme of this story, so the spring section will be called 'Exeunt', named after a song by the same name by The Oh Hellos. Give those guys a listen.

'Exeunt' is apparently a theater term that basically means to exit the stage. I thought that was fitting for this section of the story, while Daryl and Beth are constantly on the move.

 _Also I'm really living for bossy Beth, that is all._


	7. Exeunt: April

**-Exeunt: April-**

* * *

From the house where they consummated their relationship, Daryl and Beth travelled closer to Terminus. Their next pit stop brought them closer to home than either of them realized.

"Oh, Daryl," Beth whispered, her voice saddening over the words. "Look."

Out front of the house they had stumbled upon stood two roughly made crosses. Grave markers. They were fresh enough that grass hadn't entirely overtaken the dirt mounds. The young blades were sparse, doing little to disguise the petite size of the graves they covered.

"Kids," Beth breathed when they drew closer. Neither grave was marked with a name. Whoever had dug them left flowers behind, the petals brittle and faded. Daryl watched her run her fingers along the length of each cross.

"Yeah." He couldn't disagree with her. There was no way the graves belonged to anyone _but_ a pair of children. "Poor things."

She reached for him, lacing her fingers through his. "Let's check out the house."

Creaky porch steps, an unlocked door that opened into a living room. Whoever had been there last had left it tidy. As Beth moved to the next room—the kitchen—she noticed a baking sheet sitting in the drying rack next to the sink. Curiosity got the best of her; one turn of the faucet handle confirmed her suspicion.

"Daryl! This house still has _running water._ "

"No shit?" He asked from the doorway, flicking the light switch next to him. Daryl was rewarded with the kitchen light beaming. "Must be generator-ran."

Beth placed her hips squarely on her hips, tilting her head as she looked at him. "What this house is, is a blessing."

It would make a great place to rest for the night. They had a rabbit Daryl had caught earlier in the day, and wood sorrel, which Beth had learned was much tastier than dandelions. Between a house with power, the rabbit, and the leaves and roots of the wood sorrel, Beth felt like they had hit the apocalyptic jackpot.

If only it weren't for the graves in yard, which were visible from the living room window. She peered at them as Daryl built a fire in the hearth. Never mind that the oven worked; Beth had tested it. He insisted on roasting the rabbit over open flames, as they were used to.

Something about those graves made her feel…off. Without realizing, she began running her finger along the scar on her wrist again as she studied the graves from afar.

 _They're almost familiar,_ she thought. _It really could be someone we know._

True, a lot of the children at the prison had perished from the sickness that had spread like wildfire. Glenn had barely survived it; the kids had no hope. Both of the graves were definitely too big to have been dug for sweet baby Judith, which bolstered Beth's heart some.

She hadn't told Daryl, but she was holding out hope she would see Judith again. Beth had helped raise that baby, while Rick and Carl recovered from the loss of Lori and worked to get the prison set up to be what it was.

Carl…the graves were too small to be for Carl. That made her feel better, too. But she still felt that nagging at the back of her mind, like she should know who the graves belonged to. If only she could remember who had made it out of the prison during the Governor's attack…

Daryl's hand curling around her shoulder broke her out of her thoughts with a start.

"Hey," he murmured, capturing both her hands in his, effectively interrupting her worrying over her scar. Rubbing his thumbs across the backs of her hands, Daryl tipped his head forward until his forehead rested against hers. "Those two are resting. They're in a better place, out of our hellhole world. You know that, right?"

"Yeah," she whispered back to him. "I'm gonna make some bread."

Earlier, it had been a fleeting thought when she saw the unopened jar of yeast and unsoiled flour. Now, it was a driving need, a desperately calling distraction. Anything to get her away from the window and its clear view of the graves.

The dryness of the flour against her palms helped ground Beth. Kneading the dough was a catharsis in itself; her wrists and fingers pushing against the resistance of the yeast as her thoughts spiraled out. This work reminded her of her mother, of Sundays after church while Daddy napped, and they baked in the kitchen together.

Or Christmas, when she and Maggie made cinnamon loaves and the whole house smelled festive.

Or the Saturday night before Easter Sunday, when she helped bake fresh, plain loaves for the taking of Communion in the morning. Those loaves always stole the moisture from her mouth before she was able to take her sip of grape juice—how jealous she was, then, that she was never considered grown-up enough to have a taste of the wine like Maggie was allowed.

Memories rolling one after another to distract her from other nagging thoughts, those twin graves that called to her despite herself. The memories did more distracting than she intended; when she slid the bread pan into the oven, she caught the back of her hand on the hot lip of the rack.

"Son of a bitch," she grumbled to herself, not even pausing to notice how Daryl's swearing was wearing off on her. Beth closed the oven door with her unscathed had before sticking the other under the faucet and letting cool water wash over the angry, red welt forming on her skin.

"Beth, I swear," Daryl's sentence was punctuated with a low chuckle. "You're gonna give me a heart attack one day."

"I'm fine," she snapped at him over her shoulder. Beth knew she wasn't mad at Daryl. She was mad at herself for being clumsy.

"Never said you weren't." His voice, bless him, carried no venom. Instead, he sounded teasing, leaning against the kitchen doorframe as Beth soothed her burn. Eventually, the throbbing sting subsided, and she turned the faucet off, shaking her hand dry.

Beth blew her breath through her nose, trying to toss away her annoyance. "Sorry."

"You don't gotta be."

Truth be told, Daryl was doing his own calculations in his head. Given how close to the prison they still were—if his map charting was correct—it really wasn't a big leap to assume the graves belonged to people they had known. _Children_ they had known.

That fact struck an icy sliver of fear in Daryl's chest. It certainly didn't bode well. He was just trying hard not to let it show. They ate dinner at the kitchen table like they used to at the old house, before the winter cold kept them close to the fire at all times. As darkness fell, they checked every door and window to make sure it was locked.

"There's real beds here," Beth whispered into the dark, her tone much softer now. All traces of combativeness were gone now, her voice suffused with sleepiness instead. Daryl would be lying if he said he weren't exhausted himself. Too exhausted, he would venture, to go through the trouble of stripping the beds to sleep on the floor in the living room.

No objections arose when Beth took him by the hand and led him into the master bedroom. Beth had lost all inhibitions after the night they shared together in the last house. Without hesitation, she peeled off her jeans and pulled her sweater over her head before walking into the bathroom. She didn't turn the lights off, but at the sound of water running, Daryl guessed she was washing her face.

Daryl slipped his boots off, but that was the most he was going to make of before-bed preparations. That is, until Beth walked back in the bedroom. There was just enough moonlight in the room for her to see that Daryl was still wearing his jeans and shirt. Her sigh carried across the room to him, just before she crossed it herself. "It wouldn't kill you to be comfortable."

"All that bare skin just makes it easier for walkers to bite," he countered, but he didn't stop her from undoing the buttons on his shirt.

"We've made it this far. I doubt that's gonna be what takes us out of this world." When Daryl was sufficiently undressed for Beth's comfort standards—left only in the t-shirt he had layered under his flannel and his boxers—she led the way to the bed, slipping under the covers.

"We should really only spend one night here, so we don't lose our progress." Already, sleep was pulling at her. Beth struggled to stifle her yawn, curling herself around Daryl and laying her head on his chest.

"Sounds good to me."

* * *

One night had been their intention. But when Daryl opened his eyes again, it was still dark. Or…almost dark, he realized, as he woke more. Dusk. Beside him, the bed was empty.

"Beth?" he called out, throwing back the covers and reaching over the side of the bed for his jeans. He pulled them on in record time, his boots following soon after. "Beth!"

A sweep of the house showed she wasn't inside. Heart rate quickening, Daryl rushed to the front door, throwing that flimsy wooden barrier open.

And he stopped short.

There, sitting on the porch railing, was Beth. She had found new clothes somewhere in the house. Her hair was braided along the crown, leading into the tumble of her wavy ponytail. Leaning over, pocketknife in her hand, she sat in that dusk, pruning dead rose buds from the bush just below her.

"Beth," Daryl said again, his heart slowing now that he knew she was alive and well, "what're you doing?"

"They won't grow back if all the dead parts aren't cut off. You were still asleep, and I was bored. I made more bread, too. I figure we can take it with us tomorrow."

"You shouldn't be out here by yourself." She shrugged, picking her head up to look at him. Tapping her fingers against her boot, he saw the handle of her larger knife sticking out of the top.

"I've got my gun, too. And the crossbow." Only then did he realized he hadn't even reached for it himself, in his haste to look for her. Sure enough, his crossbow was leaning against the railing, just within Beth's reach.

Daryl couldn't help the stretch of the smirk across his lips. "Fair enough. C'mon, little gardener."

He beckoned her back inside. Now, the scent of the fresh bread registered to his senses, making his stomach rumble. Daryl found the loaf on the kitchen table, still warm from the oven. Over candlelight, they ate Beth's bread and dried deer jerky and berries, left over from their winter preserves.

"We were tired," Beth observed, popping a dried strawberry in her mouth. "Slept a whole day. Didn't even mean to."

"Livin' in the woods'll do that to you."

For the most part, they were quiet in the little house that had managed to protect them—though the graves in the yard were proof others had not been so lucky. Despite all the sleep they had just had, weariness still tugged at both their bones.

"One more night," Beth whispered into his skin when they were back in bed.

"We'll leave in the morning," Daryl promised.

* * *

The pair left the house so early in the morning that fog still hung in the air. Beth was rubbing at her eyes as she followed behind Daryl, trying half-heartedly to match her footfalls in cadence behind his. Around them, the morning was quiet, with even the growl and hiss of walkers absent. It was too early even for birdsong.

 _It's too early for any of this,_ Beth decided. Suddenly, a memory surfaced through her foggy mind. The last time she had been lazy with her footsteps while following Daryl, she had stepped right into a bear trap.

This memory, instinctively pulled to the forefront of her sleepy mind, should have been a warning. As it was, neither of them realized they weren't alone until a rough hand wrapped itself around Beth's upper arm.

"Dar—" she began in surprise, not yet realizing that it wasn't her companion who had grabbed her so harshly. Before she could get his whole name out of her mouth, Beth was pulled so sharply away from Daryl that she hit the ground before she realized what was happening. That certainly woke her up.

"Too bad claiming doesn't work on women, huh?"

Though she had no idea what, exactly, the two men standing over her meant by 'claiming', Beth was terrified. The ground was hard and cold beneath her, making her hammering heartbeat reverberate in her chest. One of the men bent over to grab hold of her jacket collar…only to hit the ground with a heavy _thud_ beside her, one of Daryl's arrows lodged deep in his temple.

"Get the hell away from her," Daryl growled behind her. Either fear of the dead body beside her or a moment of bravery, Beth wasn't sure which, spurred her into action. Whichever sent her adrenaline into overdrive, she managed to scramble away from the man's blood pooled closer to her face.

Tripping over her feet in her rush, Beth was grateful Daryl's hand caught her elbow, helping to steady her and move her behind him.

"You'll be sorry about that," the other man said, nudging at his companion's body with his boot.

"Nah, I don't think I will."

Beth had never known Daryl to miss with his crossbow. _A first time for everything_ , her mind faintly recited while the man just barely dodged the arrow's path. It didn't so much as graze the stranger before them.

The man ducked low to avoid the arrow. Still ducked down, he rushed forward before either could react, knocking Daryl to the ground. It had been a long time since Daryl and Beth had encountered other humans—months. Not since they left the prison. Fighting walkers was one thing; but fighting humans who could do things like pull knives on you was quite another.

"No!" the syllable ripped itself from Beth's throat when she caught the glint of the blade. As hard as she could, she kicked at the stranger, aiming her foot for his ribs. Her boot made contact, the air deflating from the man's chest under her blow.

It was enough to give Daryl room in the scrapple. He pushed himself up to his elbow, reaching across himself toward Beth's hip. Until that moment, when she felt his fingers graze her skin for just a moment, she had forgotten about the gun she kept hidden beneath her shirt and waistband. She intercepted his hand, pulling the gun from her jeans and taking aim at the man still crumpled in on himself.

Her bullet hit the mark Daryl's arrow had missed.

Which was great, of course. But what was not great was the way the shot echoed through the otherwise silent forest. Not far off, there was a rustling from the east.

"We gotta go," Daryl told her, on his feet in the next second. He grabbed her hand and pulled her forward. They ran in the opposite direction, Beth working hard to follow Daryl's serpentine lead.

"How far?" Beth managed to whisper between pants.

"Enough," was Daryl's only clipped reply.

They ran and ran, knocking themselves terribly off course as they blew through the forest. Across a stretch of road, through more woodland, and then they happened along a small, blink-and-you miss it town.

By then, Beth's legs felt like quivering jelly beneath her. She was certain only Daryl's tight grip on her hand had kept her propelling forward.

The spring sun was starting to sink low as Daryl led the way around a long boarded-up shack of a building. It was rickety looking, like one strong wind could topple it over, but also utterly and hopelessly abandoned among the other buildings. With one solid hit using the butt of her gun, Daryl was able to pop the lock in the rusted doorknob and gain them access inside.

"Guess we don't have to do a sweep," Beth whispered into the dust-filled air. The interior was entirely bare. With windows so thoroughly boarded, the only light came from thin slivers of sun that managed to squeeze past the cracks in the roof.

"You alright?" Daryl asked her. Only now that they had stopped did Beth realize she still couldn't hear right. She had thought it was the usual ringing of firing her gun that invaded her ears, and then the wind as they ran. But that roaring, and that distant ringing, still muffled his words. "Beth. You're shakin'."

She was, and not from the exertion of their running or the chill that had entered the air as the sun set. No, this tremble was starting in her belly and moving outward, setting her whole body to quivering.

"I killed that man." The words came unbidden between her lips. Reaching behind her, Beth found purchase against the wall, using it to support her. "I shot him."

"Yeah." Daryl had never been one to mince his words. She knew that. Beth made herself concentrated on the way the slats of sunlight played over his face as he stepped closer to her. Light and shadows playing over his features, brightening and dimming the blue of his eyes until he was standing right in front of her.

When he was close enough, Daryl reached a hand out to cup her cheek. "He woulda killed us if you didn't."

Numbly, Beth raised her own hand, laying it over his own. His skin was much warmer than hers, burning against the chill that had radiated through her body. "He would have?"

She meant to say it as a statement. This was a fact she knew in her logical mind, but it had come out as a question, seeking validation for the doubt and guilt she could hardly give a name to inside herself.

"Without a doubt."

The only reply Beth could manage was a feeble nod of her head.

She had never known herself to be a killer. Even when the Governor terrorized them, she had never thought about killing him herself. How she had hoped that Rick or Daryl or Michonne or Glenn would be able to put an end to that terrible, evil man.

Never had she seen herself being the one to pull a trigger.

Never had she seen herself as capable of ending another human's life.

And yet, here she was.

* * *

Daryl insisted they wait until nightfall to move further. The dark would give them cover, and it would be cold, but they needed to put more distance between themselves and the rest of that group.

Or the walkers. Whatever had been rustling in the woods in response to Beth's gun shot.

Moving at night was fine with Beth, though. She hardly knew how she would be able to if Daryl had expected her to sleep instead. Not with those moments still replaying in her mind.

That man hadn't even had a chance to stand before her bullet had blown through his head. It was all Beth could think of as she rummaged through her backpack, pulling out another layer of clothing for Daryl and herself.

She tossed the fleece sweater to him before shrugging into her jacket. A combination of the dark and her still-shaking fingers made it nearly impossible for her to maneuver the buttons on the coat.

"Fuck!" She whisper-shouted to herself. Daryl was before her in the next moment, gently moving her hands out of the way.

"Here, lemme." _He_ had no problems slipping the buttons through their holes while she stood like a helpless child. "You alright?"

"I'm fine."

She didn't mean to snap at him. A small, subdued part of herself felt guilty for the slight against him. Overwhelmingly, though, all she felt was guilt and stinging pride. Guilt, for the life she had taken, and stinging pride for how badly she was handling it.

Daryl had grown skilled at reading Beth's moods in these months they had spent together. In the weak moonlight, he could just make out the jutting set of her jaw and the downward set of her eyebrows. Now was not a time to argue or press her.

He didn't say another word, instead beckoning her forward with the motion of his hand. As he expected, Beth followed behind him. Lifting his finger to his lips, he gave her a silent reminder to stay quiet.

With the light of the full moon above them, he didn't expect they would much, if any, trouble navigating their way. Their run through the forest had knocked them off course, but Daryl couldn't think of Terminus right now. What was more important was making sure they had distance between themselves and…whoever was in the forest.

A light rain had swept through that afternoon, the soggy ground helping to cushion their footfalls. Daryl continued their winding path, hugging close to trees for extra cover. The moonlight was dappled with the trees so close and thick, but he would take this over the openness of the little town they had left any night.

Neither of them spoke, but at one point, Beth's hand grabbed hold of his sweater. Daryl turned back to look at her, finding Beth tipping her head to the left. _Look._

A few yards away was the hazy light of a campfire. Out in the open, practically a beacon for walkers and other humans. _Idiots._

Daryl inclined his head in the opposite direction. The last thing they needed was attention drawn to them by people who didn't know how to be out in the open. Veritable ghosts in the night, the duo moved from tree to tree. It didn't take long for the campfire to fade from view.

Here, under such a clear sky, it was easy to see the way the colors changed throughout the night. When the moon was directly overhead, the sky was the darkest, inkiest black Beth had ever seen. These were the hours she hated to be on watch, when the whole world only existed in shades of the unbelievable black. From there, the sky lightened in degrees, losing its velvet softness to change into gray. The trees were too close together to see the sunrise, but that dove gray gradually took on the bright, eggshell blue of a spring day.

Only then did a quiet sigh of relief escape Daryl's lips.

"Do you think we've gone far enough?"

"Who knows. But we gotta find somewhere to sleep tonight before we get sloppy."

That was always one of Daryl's main concerns. If they were too tired or sick, that's when mistakes could happen. Mere seconds could make the difference between living and dying, especially with both walkers and other humans to contend with.

Beth tipped her head, listening to the birdsong. Here in the forest, that was the best way to know there was a walker about before seeing one. Even the animals had quickly learned the difference between the living and the dead.

"Which way, navigator?"

He looked over his shoulder, taking in her pale face. Between her first kill and the long night, it was showing in the bruise-like purple smudges underneath her eyes. Even with the chill still in the air, there was no color in her cheeks.

"West, for a bit. Then east again. We'll zigzag until we find something to hole up in for the night."

Slipping her hand into his, Beth tried not to think of how far this was taking them from Terminus. That was their original goal, and now these stupid strangers had knocked them off their course. The fact that she was no closer to Maggie—possibly even farther now—was not helping the heavy feeling in her middle.

The 'something to hole up in for the night' ended up being a small convenience store with only a handful of walkers inside. Between the crossbow and Beth's knife, the walkers were soon disposed of and their bodies tossed outside. Unfortunately, the store was almost entirely wiped clean of any supplies they could have used.

"Shelves in front of the doors and windows?" Beth asked, using a curtain to wipe her hands clean. Following his nod, they worked together to push the shelves until every exit was blocked. It made the inside considerably darker, but it also obscured any view from the outside, which was the entire point.

One of the shelves held packs of fruit leather. Beth took every pack on the shelf, to investigate for any signs of mold. Should it be safe to eat, this would be a great supplement to their supplies.

There was a small clerk's office in the back, blessedly devoid of any walkers. Though there was no bedding to be found, Beth was just happy to have a place to rest. She unloaded their backpack of everything but extra clothes, making a rudimentary pillow for them to share.

Daryl pushed the office desk in front of the door. The window in the office was too high and small to be breached, he decided. Beneath that window, Beth sat sorting the food they had left.

"Even with the world ending, no one likes fruit leather. We better get used to it." She tossed him a cherry pack, ripping open a blackberry pack for herself. He joined her on the floor, sitting cross-legged in front of her.

Talking about feelings had never been his strong suit. It didn't have a place in his childhood, and it sure as hell didn't have a place between him and Merle. But he had sat through enough uncomfortable conversations with Hershel to know it was the Greene family way. While he had squirmed and dodged as many of Hershel's questions as he could at the time, he was thankful for them now.

Chewing his fruit leather slowly, Daryl took her in again. Her shoulders weren't so tense here, now that they were safely indoors. If she were able to see the way her hair was falling from her braid, he was sure that she would have redone it immediately. Those dark circles still stained the space beneath her eyes, but her face was not so pale anymore.

When he swallowed, he quickly realized that the words he had been planning to say were going to become lodged in his throat. Eventually, he forced out, "Anyone woulda done the same thing you did."

Beth was quiet for a beat, looking down at her lap.

"I know," she said softly. "But that doesn't really make it any better, does it?"

"Maybe not," Daryl conceded, "but it don't make it any worse, either."

Before him, Beth picked at her fruit, tearing off a tiny piece before slipping it between her lips. Her shrug was so slight, Daryl nearly missed it.

"We should try to sleep soon. Tomorrow, we need to study the map and get back on route."

He couldn't find it within himself to argue with her. Instead, he dutifully finished his food before wordlessly agreeing to turn in for the night—or late afternoon, as the sunlight still streaming through the small window showed.

Beth curled herself into the safe haven of his arms, finally feeling warm again. She could feel his heartbeat against her back, the rhythm helping to calm her.

 _It doesn't make it any worse_ , she repeated Daryl's words to herself. Hopefully, her father and the powers that be would think the same.

She still wasn't sure that she did.

* * *

 **A/N:** I'm finally back with another chapter!

Deciding what to do with this story has been a lot of fun. I really wanted to show Beth and Daryl following the path the others have, just without their knowledge. I think it's obvious that the Grady Memorial storyline is being ignored here...I don't want to even visit it, if I'm honest. Instead, we see Beth and Daryl stay at the same house Tyrese and Carol used, with Mika and Lizzie's graves.

We get a taste of the Claimers, but again, I didn't want to spend too much time with them. As we know, Rick and Daryl take care of the Claimers in the show, but Rick, Carl, and Michonne are long gone from the area in this fic. Daryl and Beth are considerably behind their friends, since they made the decision to stay stationary during the winter.

I just wanted to clear up any confusion anyone might have concerning the timeline! This chapter ended up being heavy on development and travel, not so much romance. I'll make it up to y'all in the next chapter!


	8. Exeunt: May

**-Exeunt: May-**

* * *

 _April showers bring May flowers._

The old saying ran through Beth's head as she looked out over the meadow full to bursting with wildflowers. Their sweet scent wafted to her over the sun-warmed breeze. One scent stood out to her: honeysuckle. It brought with it the memories of her older brother showing her how to pull the stamen from the blooms, drawing out the sweet nectar inside.

She walked through lackadaisically fluttering butterflies and dragonflies, crossing the meadow to the hollowed-out tree trunk where the honeysuckle bush had taken up residency. When she was little, Beth always thought the nectar tasted like sunshine on her tongue. The same thought occurred to her now as she took a sip, letting her eyes drift shut.

Beth found herself warmed through by the sunset above and the syrup-sweet nectar filling her mouth. Spring had always been her favorite season, and this meadow did the season justice in all its glory.

In the meadow, treating herself to honeysuckle and sheep sorrel, is where Daryl found her. They were supposed to be scouting a place to sleep for the night, but obviously she had become sidetracked. Beth gave him a bright smile before wrapping her arms around his neck and kissing him. He could taste the blooms on her mouth.

"You're in a good mood," he murmured against her lips. Daryl was relieved he could say such a thing; she had been in such a dark mindset for two weeks after she killed that stranger in the woods. He supposed she must have come to terms with it.

"I'll be in an even better mood if you tell me we get to sleep inside tonight."

They hadn't had much luck since the convenience store, but Daryl had a surprise for her.

"I mean, it's more or less inside." Her fair eyebrows shot up, intrigue clear on her face. He took her hand, leading her back along the path he had just taken to the meadow. Just a few yards away, he stopped underneath a tall, wide-trunked tree. At first, Beth didn't notice the rope ladder until Daryl swung it toward her.

"A _treehouse_?" Tipping her head back, she saw the wooden structure above them. There was no glass in the windows, but sun-faded checkered curtains hung inside the frames.

"We can pull the ladder up once we're up there. Won't even have to worry about anyone sneakin' up on us in the night. I already checked it out up there."

Underneath the tree, Daryl build a low fire to cook the quail he had hunted earlier in the day. They ate while the sunset, making sure to completely smother the fire before Daryl prompted Beth to climb the rope ladder.

There was a little balcony of sorts outside the treehouse, making it easier to open the wooden door. Inside, scattered across the floor were some comic books. Beth shook her head. _Of course Daryl didn't think to tidy up,_ she thought to herself.

She stacked up the comic books next to a tall wooden chest. The inside of the treehouse was bigger than she would have thought. Out of curiosity, Beth opened the chest to find sleeping bags and pillows inside. Whoever this place used to belong to obviously used to spend the night in the treehouse, just like they intended to.

While Daryl pulled up the ladder, coiling it neatly and tucking it into the railing on the balcony, Beth shook out the sleeping bags to make them a bed for the night. "We got lucky here."

The nights still carried a chill with them, and she was glad for these sleeping bags. And the roof over their heads, even if the windows were open to the world. Underneath the sleeping bags, there had been a battery-powered space heater, though she didn't think it was cold enough for that.

"Won't even have to take shifts," Daryl agreed behind her.

Beth always knew when Daryl considered them to be completely safe. Only when they were indoors was he free with his affection, as he was now, wrapping his arms around her waist from behind. She leaned into his touch, threading her fingers through his for a moment before shifting within his embrace. Tipping her head back, she managed to kiss him again.

There had not been an opportunity since the first time for Beth to enjoy him in this way. That was life on the road, she supposed. Now, she made no efforts to stop Daryl from pulling away from her long enough to slip her sweater over her head.

He lifted her, setting her atop the chest, and Beth wrapped her legs around him. His hands traveled underneath her tank top, trailing upward over her stomach and breasts until that layer, too, was removed. Her bra followed not long after, the cool air and Daryl's hands on her skin making goosebumps raise along her skin.

"Daryl…" she murmured his name, surprised at how thick her voice sounded as his mouth marked a path along her jaw and down her neck, drifting ever lower.

Had she not known herself, Beth never would have guessed Daryl Dixon would be such a tender lover. He paused only long enough for Beth to help him do away with his own shirt before gripping her under her thighs to carry to the sleeping bags she had just prepared. Soon enough, the last layers between them were gone.

Languid movements, lips brushing against skin. Fingers running through hair; fingers intertwined. Beth framed his face with her hands, drawing him close enough to kiss him again. Even as her leg wrapped itself around his hip, she was suddenly overwhelmed by the certainty that she would never have her fill of Daryl Dixon.

"Fuck, Beth," he murmured into her hair, the shiver that wracked through his body echoing in her own. Daryl wrapped an arm around her waist, effortlessly pulling her up into his lap, earning a pleasured gasp from Beth in the process. Somehow, sitting straddled with him inside her only made her believe in her earlier thought more.

She gripped his shoulders tightly as he dipped his head to kiss along her neck. The gentle rocking of their hips would slowly drive her crazy in her current desire, she was sure. A hand found his chin, pulling his face back up, locking her mouth on his. She kissed him fervently, fueling her need into it. He must have caught on, a hand flaying along the small of her back to bring her impossibly closer as their tempo increased.

Unlike the last time when Daryl chided Beth to be quiet, all thoughts of stealth were gone from his mind when her thighs tightened around him. Her gasping breaths merely fueled his fire, their bodies moving in tandem. It wasn't until she cried out at the climax of it all that it occurred to him how much noise making had likely been going on.

As his heartbeat hit its fever pitch and began to slow, he gripped her still, smoothing her sweat-damp hair from her face. she was glowing in the thin moonlight streaming in from the window. They were in a tree, yards off the ground, he reminded himself. So what if Beth had cried out at their lovemaking?

"I'm sorry," she whispered now, breaths still coming in short pants. He ran a finger across her mouth, her lips slack under his touch.

"Don't be."

He laid her back down, only then withdrawing himself from her. She curled herself into his arms, eyelids already heavy as sleep came to claim her. He was drowsy himself, his body feeling hazy and thick in the aftermath. His movements were slow as he wrapped himself around her.

She still smelled of clean, spring sunshine and wildflowers from her afternoon in the meadow. Daryl inhaled the scent clinging to her hair, thinking about the taste of the honeysuckle nectar on her mouth as he drifted to sleep.

* * *

Beth woke first, her slumber-hazy mind making her body feel heavy. As she surfaced from her sleep, she realized the sun was just now rising, with birds welcoming the dawn with their songs. Daryl's arm was warm and solid around her waist, her head pillowed by his shoulder. She stretched herself within his embrace before pulling herself closer to him.

Her reward was an incomprehensible mumble from Daryl as he turned toward her in his sleep. Beth giggled despite herself, settling into his arms. She liked the way her bare body felt against his, their blankets warding off the early-morning chill that came through the open windows.

 _If only we could stay here forever,_ Beth mused to herself, drawing lazy circles along Daryl's bicep as he slept. The touch began to rouse him, a hand running itself through her hair. His lips found her forehead a second later, pressing a kiss along her hairline.

"S'morning?" He asked, voice thick and words slurred. Is it morning?

"Yeah. Unfortunately."

Daryl chuckled at that, letting his hand trail down her bare back. "We have to get up, then."

"Mmmm." Beth hummed, trying to ignore the shiver that ran through her at his touch. She couldn't quite see his face, but she was sure he wore a gloating smirk. "Not yet."

He didn't argue with her. Instead, he just held her a while longer, slowly running his fingers up and down her back. Across the room were their clothes; Beth knew that Daryl had the map in the pocket of his jeans. The new path to Terminus was already marked out—they had made great headway getting pack on track, travelling every day from sunup to sundown.

Tipping her head back to kiss him, Beth considered how much time she could bargain from Daryl. Only now did she realize how sore her feet and legs were from their constant walking. She liked the way the rising sun was warming her back, and the feel of Daryl's skin on hers.

Daryl would be lying if he didn't admit that he was equally hesitant to leave their makeshift bed. He watched the dust motes swirl in the morning sunlight, still running his fingers up and down Beth's back. The motion was just as soothing for him, feeling the rise and fall of her breath.

But…he also knew how important it was to Beth that they reach Terminus. The idea had even been warming to him over the past few days, if for no other reason than he, too, wanted answers. Perhaps Terminus would finally have some for them. Before he could talk himself out of it, he shifted beneath her, ignoring the indignant pout that overtook Beth's features. He rummaged through their clothes, sorting his own from hers before tossing the fabric in her direction.

"We're not gonna get anywhere by bein' lazy." There was no logical arguing with his logic, but that didn't stop Beth from defiantly rolling herself into the warm blankets he left behind and stretching before pulling herself from bed to get dressed.

Too soon, Beth found herself following Daryl down that rope ladder. She was coming to have a real appreciation for all the shelters they had used along the way. Being without a permanent home, in such a hostile world, was opening her eyes to how blessed those structures were. Before following in Daryl's footsteps, as she was used to now after so many miles together, Beth snuck one more glance at the treehouse.

 _Thank you,_ she thought toward it, making sure the ladder was straightened out and waiting for the next survivors who might happen upon it.

* * *

 _It was the stupid walker's fault._

The thing had been bigger than she was, probably twice her size. She would only admit that it had been her fault that she wasn't paying enough attention…but it _had_ been dark. Daryl had taken the walker out when she fell, and she was more grateful for that than usual, considering the way her wrist had faltered when she tried to catch herself.

Unsubstantial mud cushioned most of her body when she hit the ground, but not her wrist. _That_ twisted under her weight, an internal crunch to her bones and muscles making her heart skip a beat at the jolt of pain.

Now she sat in the hollow between a cluster of trees, the night thick around them. Daryl held her hand in his, gently pressing against it this way and that to see what range of motion she was left with. To her credit, Beth was doing her best not to cry at the sting with every move he put her wrist through. It was too dark to truly assess the swelling, but just running his fingers over her arm, Daryl knew her joint was puffy and swollen.

Even without any light to see her by, Daryl guessed that there would be tears streaming down her face. Sure enough, her cheek was wet when he cupped her face. He pressed a kiss to her forehead, hoping it would offer some reassurance.

"You'll be okay." A whispered promise. There were still plenty of hours left in the night, and he was hesitant to move her from their hiding spot. Five walkers lay truly dead around them; that, surely, would be enough to cover their smell. He pulled her close to him, fitting her little body against his to wait out the night.

Beth pulled her injured hand in next to her chest, cradling it against movement. Still, with her every breath the dulling throb ran through her wrist and reminded her of her own stupidity. She laid her head back to rest on Daryl's shoulder, trying to ignore the pain.

It made for a long night. They didn't dare speak or sleep with so little protection. Not to mention the pain in Beth's arm. Sleep wasn't in the cards for her even if she had wanted it.

Once there was adequate morning light to work with, Daryl carefully fashioned a crude splint for her wrist. He anchored it with some sturdy twigs on either side, securing it all together with ripped fabric from one of their spare shirts. "I don't think it's broken."

She had to agree. There was some swelling, yes, but no bruising. It hurt when Daryl manipulated the joint, but not so terribly that she would say it was broken. Still, she found herself holding her wrist close to herself as they persevered forward. The throbbing in her wrist was soon echoed in her temples, though Beth was sure it was mostly due to the sleepless night.

Of course, it had to be her right wrist, and she had to be right-handed. Why wasn't she more careful? The plan had been to travel another mile, just to make it an even five for the day. Instead she had to make such a stupid mistake and end up hurt in the process. Now she was practically useless without her dominant hand, just following Daryl around, all because—

"Hey, hear that?" He always used clipped phrases when they were out in the open, and now it pulled her out of her self-disparaging thoughts.

Now that he had brought her attention too it, she realized that a low hum had filled the air around them. In front of her, Daryl cocked his head to the side, judging where the sound was originating from. His eyes shifted to the left, narrowing slightly.

"Let's go see."

The way his eyes narrowed further let Beth know exactly how he felt about the idea, but she merely turned on her heel toward the sound. Something needed to take her mind off what an idiot she had been the night before. She led the way, moving quietly through the trees, the buzzing hum becoming louder with every step she took.

Really, they could have had their answer still several yards back if they had been paying more attention. More or less living outside since the season had turned made them largely desensitized to the presence of wildlife and insects. Especially the insects, as they were becoming more ever-present with the warmer weather. The frequency with which they were swatting bees away from them should have been an indicator.

A huge, hollowed out tree—probably a casualty from some long-forgotten thunderstorm—completely overrun with bees. The hive was massive, likely taking up the entirety of the tree. Even if they each stood on either side of the tree, Daryl doubted that they would be able to fully wrap their arms around the trunk.

It was such an unusual sight that neither of them noticed the man approaching. Beth was thinking of the honey that was secreted away inside; Daryl was just amazed at the ingenuity of the bees.

"Beautiful, isn't it?"

Beth jumped, clutching her injured arm closer to her chest, as if that might offer her any protection. Daryl was quicker on the turn than she was, crossbow already poised in his hands. He had it aimed perfectly level with the chest of the woman the voice belonged to. An older woman, rather tall and slim, her hands raised before her and a quietly bemused smile playing at her lips.

"There's no need for that. I'm unarmed. Name's Tilly." Despite what seemed to be genuine reassurance to Beth, Daryl didn't drop his aim even a fraction of a centimeter. "How's that arm?"

Only then did Beth drop her arm back to her side, making a considerable effort not to let this stranger know how much it hurt. Weaknesses were fatal. "It's fine."

"Let me take a look at it for you. I was a nurse, back when jobs existed. House is back this way. We don't get many visitors, on account of the bees. They tend to scare off most wayward souls."

Beth cut her eyes toward Daryl, waiting for his cue. To her surprise, he tipped his head forward in the most subtle of nods. Beth kept pace alongside Daryl as they followed Tilly over the crest of a small hill. In the shallow valley beneath was a little house, framed with fencing that sectioned of a garden to the left and a small coop of chickens to the right. The sight of a maintained house, one with life inside, made Beth feel oddly queasy. Such views were no longer commonplace in her world.

Tilly opened the door—which was painted a bright yellow—to let them inside her house. As Beth stepped through the threshold, she felt Daryl's hand light upon the small of her back. Standing on the hill, Tilly had said _we don't get many visitors._ Daryl was expecting at least one more person to be inside the house, Beth was sure…not the three plump cats who came running to greet them.

Even among the shrill meows of the feline welcoming party, Daryl didn't relax. Tension seemed to roll off him in waves. Or, at least, his body heat certainly did, echoing what he was almost certainly feeling.

"Come this way," Tilly beckoned over her shoulder, leading them through an open doorway to another room. "I keep the medical supplies in the dining room."

The dining room was eggshell blue, with a white china cabinet along one wall. Only, the china cabinet didn't hold dishware. Instead, it was packed to near overflowing with various first aid equipment. Rummaging through the cabinet, Tilly stood with her back to them, talking all the while.

"Mind telling me how you hurt your arm? Might help me figure out what's going on with it. Y'all never did tell me your names."

"Um," Beth began, pausing to glare at Daryl when he stiffened further at Tilly's probing. "I fell on it, mostly. It's my wrist. There were some walkers, and the ground was muddy and slick from the rain. Oh, and my name's Beth, and that's Daryl."

"Walkers, huh? That's a new one." Tilly turned back to them, a proper medical splint and a roll of cloth bandages in her hand. Fingers curling, she used her free hand to beckon Beth forward.

"What do you call them?"

Her touch was sure and quick, dismantling all the work Daryl had done with the makeshift cast he had made. "Not bad. It would've got the job done, but it sure as hell wouldn't be comfortable. I don't see a reason to give the dead a special name. More or less their world now, isn't it? That beehive might keep people away, but it sure as hell is a beacon for the rest of them."

Hot tears had rolled down Beth's cheeks when Daryl had manipulated her swollen, battered joint, but she refused to show the same to Tilly. She blinked her eyes quickly bidding the tears not to fall and betray her. Tutting under her tongue, Tilly set aside the splint to quickly and expertly wrap Beth's wrist in the bandages.

"A bad sprain, but I don't feel any broken bones. You're lucky. Nurse's advice would be to let it rest a few days at least…but feel free to ignore me."

Tilly's hazel eyes flicked to Daryl over Beth's shoulder as she spoke the last part. She quirked an eyebrow at him, though when she spoke her words were still directed at Beth. "Your man doesn't talk much, does he?"

Heat flooded to Beth's face and suddenly her head and her mouth were no loner in sync. While her mind raced, her mouth felt slow and sluggish, half-forming sounds of thoughts that were equally as flimsy. Slow and smug, a smile formed on Tilly's face at her floundering. Daryl's reaction was lost on Beth, though—she was far too embarrassed to peek over her shoulder to see.

Bemused smile still playing at her lips, Tilly fitted the splint around Beth's wrist. "Both of you are welcome to stay overnight. Like I said, ignore me if you want, but there's a storm brewing. You can feel it in the air."

It had been humid, sure, but not so heavy that Beth suspected it would rain anymore that day. But when she looked out a close-by window, there was an obvious darkening of the light outside. Only once Tilly left the room did Beth chance a look at Daryl.

Pink blush was still staining her cheeks as she met his eye. It nearly made a smile quirk across his lips. Almost. Instead, he searched her face, trying to see if her expression betrayed any discomfort. Over her wrist, this whole situation, anything. Unfortunately for him, he found a clear hopefulness in her soft blue eyes.

The sigh escaped him before he could stop it, but it only brought about a victorious smile from Beth. She had him, and she knew it. Daryl knew damn well he wasn't going to argue over this with her, even if he didn't like it.

"One night," he conceded, which only made her smile wider.

* * *

One night turned into two, against Daryl's better judgment. Alas, he had no control over the weather, and the storm Tilly foretold lasted through the first night and left behind considerable rains through the next day. Her cats—named Tallulah, Delilah, and Simon—were oddly unbothered by the lingering thunder. They lounged around the house with enviable ease.

Beth was equally at ease, or at the least overly tired after the previous night they had, if how soundly she slept was any indication. For Daryl, sleep was fleeting and shallow in the guest bed they shared. But Beth slept peacefully beside him, hugging her pillow to herself when he grew restless. He had studied her face in the flashes of lightning that illuminated the room. The smoothness of her brow, the slack to her jaw. She was taken by this Tilly, or perhaps this oasis of life the woman had built in the forest.

Daryl knew it must remind her of the Greene family farm, because it recalled his own memories as well. Especially as he watched her wash their clothes in a suds-filled metal bucket, lying them out on the grass out back to be dried by the sun.

During the day, Beth was all easy smiles, helping Tilly can an early harvest of green tomatoes collected from the makeshift greenhouse that stood outback. The two of them had braved the rain for that, returning considerably dampened with their bounty.

They talked all the while, and Daryl half-listened while he calculated the miles left until they would reach Terminus.

"…a prison, but we had the whole thing set up like a huge, communal house."

"A prison, huh? That's resourceful. Communities are the way to go if anyone ever gets it in their head to reclaim this world from the dead."

Rick's dream, for sure. Terminus was a community. Sanctuary for all. It was what Beth wanted. There was a sarcastic tone to Tilly's words, making Daryl think it wasn't something she believed in. Considering she lived in this house with three cats and a whole mess of chickens, communities didn't seem to be Tilly's thing.

They were hardly Daryl's, either, but according to his math, he and Beth were fifteen miles out from Terminus.

The number made his stomach tighten. Before they had run into the strangers outside the house with the graves, they had been twenty miles away. The winding path they had taken to avoid said strangers had knocked them farther off course than he had anticipated.

Still.

Fifteen miles was not so much. They could clear that in three days, if they were persistent and conditions held in their favor. He looked through the doorway to the kitchen, watching the concentration on Beth's face as she used her left hand to clumsily cut tomatoes into slices for Tilly.

Another night wouldn't hurt them.

Tilly revealed the fact that her house still had running water on the second night. Had she not told them, Daryl wouldn't have had a clue. Despite having a generator, the woman didn't use the electricity, depending instead on homemade candles.

"The bees keep me in good supply of wax," she had said with a nonchalant shrug. "It's pretty easy to live by candlelight. But sometimes you just can't beat a hot shower, especially if you've been doing some travelling."

No argument was raised from Beth on that end. She was all too happy to take the fluffy towels offered them. There was a bathroom connected to the guest bedroom Tilly had lent them. Daryl hadn't had a real shower since the prison, and even there, it was with collected rainwater that was lukewarm at best and frigid most often.

Terminus was still heavy on Daryl's mind when the patter of the shower stream started in the bathroom. He hadn't given it a second thought when Beth disappeared behind the door. That is, until her head popped back through the frame, startling him as a teasing smile spread across her lips.

"It's rude to waste water."

His eyebrows shot up, disappearing beneath his shaggy brown hair. She beckoned him with her good hand, and Daryl found himself responding in kind, pulling the bathroom door shut behind him. Swirling shower steam already filled the air around them. Daryl unwound the careful wrapping of Beth's bandages setting them aside on the edge of the sink. "I think I'll need more help than that."

A smirk formed despite himself, starting with freeing her hair from its messy braid. He helped her undress before taking care of his own clothing and joining her under the water.

"Who knew it would take one walker to put you outta commission." Hot, clean water fell over them, soaking into Beth's hair and making Daryl aware of all the knots and tension in his muscles as they soothed away. Even with Beth's head tipped back, he caught her eye roll.

"It only takes one to put anyone out of commission," she retorted. While she rinsed her hair, Daryl couldn't stop himself running a hand along the curve of her waist. Apparently, the water wasn't quite warm enough to stave off the goosebumps that broke across her skin at his touch.

"Yeah, you're right."

He washed her hair for her, lathering the shampoo into the strands, making sure to take his time. Beth would chide him if he didn't do a thorough job, he knew. But he didn't mind half so much as he might pretend. Even he had to admit that it was nice to be in a safe, warm place…never mind that he had spent the entire two days of their stay on edge.

If Tilly was going to kill them, she probably would have by now. No point in wasting resources that way, at least in Daryl's mind. Though he hadn't said any of this out loud, he was sure Beth agreed. She pressed herself to him, wrapping her arms around his waist and resting her head on his shoulder.

Warm, water-slick skin, the full length of her flush against him. His fingers tangled back into her hair as he held her to him, his other hand coming to rest on the small of her back.

"Of anyone I could've been with all this time," she whispered, voice muffled by his skin and the water falling around them. "I'm so glad it was you."

* * *

He should have let them stay.

Tilly's house in the little valley had been idyllic. Chickens clucking out front, purring cats lounging around the furniture. Golden misty mornings. They had left with jars of honey from Tilly as a parting gift, nestled inside Beth's backpack with the last of their winter reserves.

Tilly's house was safe.

It wasn't surrounded by a broken fence and walkers alike.

The structure wasn't visibly burned out, a skeleton corpse of what it was, obvious even as they stood yards and yards away.

Tilly's house didn't make Beth physically break down in a way she hadn't since witnessing her father's death.

When the Governor had taken Hershel's head off, Beth had been hysterical. Gripping her arm, forcing Beth to move forward and follow him through the fallen prison fence in the aftermath was a memory that would be forever ingrained in Daryl's mind. Not to mention the way her crying had petered out as they ran, until she was entirely dry-eyed when they fell down exhausted in the field. Amid that tall grass was the first time that Beth told Daryl she wasn't going to cry anymore.

Terminus was a wasteland, nothing like the 'sanctuary' they— _Beth_ —had anticipated. She had to have been anticipating something grand. She had to have been anticipating seeing Maggie again.

She had to have been, because her reaction was immediate. Knees buckled, sending her toward the ground. Daryl barely caught her in time before she fell flat on her face. She was shaking within his hands, a desperate sob ripping itself from her throat.

"We can go back," he murmured to her, trying not to wince from how tightly she was gripping him. Her nails dug into his skin, as if she was trying to find some kind of purchase now that her world was once again upended.

"No." The word was mangled, because Beth forced it out from between her teeth. Tears tracking paths down her cheeks, Beth's expression was already turning dark. "We don't go back. Only forward."

Hershel's words.

Daryl had heard them before, but always in a comforting tone from the older man. Words meant to bolster his daughters' spirits as their group navigated this dangerous world around them.

Now Beth spit them out like a bad taste.

She squeezed Daryl's arm one more time, reassuring him or herself he wasn't sure, before untangling herself from his arms. Four steps ahead of him before she looked over her shoulder, beckoning him forward with her splinted hand.

"C'mon."

* * *

 **A/N:** This is the longest chapter I've written for this fic, 5,466 words... wild to me. I gave myself a goal to progressively make each chapter longer than the last, and so far that has happened!

Of course, it's an easy thing to do when writing about one of your favorite ships ever.


	9. Powdered Gold: June

**Powdered Gold: June**

* * *

They stayed in Terminus for a few days.

Well, in the general location of Terminus, but it was all the same to Daryl.

Though the train station was largely burnt out, they ventured into the ruined fence. All the walkers in the area were equally burned and sluggish. Beth's sprained wrist was no detriment, to his surprise. She was quick to learn to use her left hand when wielding her knife.

On the day they arrived, they found a makeshift courtyard not far inside the fence line. Flapping in the wind, suspended from a still-standing clothesline, was a piece of clothing that had Beth grabbing his arm tight in her grip.

"Daryl," her voice was all breath; a reverent whisper, "that's yours. They _were_ here."

His poncho, which he would use at the prison when the weather was cool enough for it. That poncho had done him well, leaving his arms free of the restriction that a jacket would have brought with it. He could wield any weapon—his crossbow, knife, gun, what have you—with total ease. It was not something he had taken with him when they fled the prison, obviously. No; the only thing he had grabbed when he left was Beth.

Now there the poncho was, right before his eyes again.

He didn't want to admit it to Beth but seeing the familiar piece of clothing made his heart race. This was the first—the _only_ —sign they had they were on the right path. Before, they had only been following Beth's pipe dream…but now the dream was proving true. Beth strode forward, pulling the poncho down from the clothesline.

"It could be just a poncho," he murmured, reluctant to give Beth or himself this glimmer of hope. Unfortunately for him, she was already running with the idea. He watched as she carefully folded up his poncho, tucking it into her backpack.

Because of his poncho, they made the decision to stake out the area and explore for a handful of days. Rather than stay anywhere inside the less-damaged portions of Terminus, they camped on a hill in the woods where they had an easy view of the place at all times.

They had a game plan: explore the area for further clues of their friends and family. Whether that game plan would bring further clues to fruition was yet to be seen.

* * *

Flakes of ash fell around them as if it were snowing inside the ruined building. People had lived in this place, probably a lot of people. That much was obvious from the personal items strewn about and the sleeping spaces they kept happening upon. As of their third day in the area, they had consistently come up empty handed, save for the poncho.

Beth had taken to sleeping with the poncho as a covering. The nights still carried a chill with them even as summer began to take hold. Watching her doze away in the moonlight, he became more convinced that poncho was one and the same with his old prison standby. He had worn it often, and seeing it wrapped around Beth reminded him of crisp fall days clearing walkers from the fence line with Glenn and Carl.

There, at the neckline, was a small tear. An errant walker hand had grabbed hold of him, weak but trying desperately to pull Daryl closer to the fence. His breath had puffed in front of his face in the morning chill when he laughed. Carl had taken the decaying arm right off with one solid hit of his sharpened stake before sending the point through the walker's head.

Beth had mended that tear herself, and the green thread still showed through the tan fabric. Watching the moonlight play over her face, Daryl wondered idly if she remembered sewing it for him. Her days were dominated by small tasks such as clothes mending—when she wasn't caring for Judith, that is—when they all lived so happily at the prison. Daryl ran his fingertips across her forehead while she slept, sweeping away wayward blonde strands and tucking them behind her ear, before turning his gaze back to Terminus.

At night, they watched the burned-out remains, looking for any signs of human life. During the day, they raided what supplies they could while looking for more clues of their friends. Daryl liked the nights better, because during the day, he had to watch Beth's face fall over and over as it became clear they weren't likely to find anything else. At night, they could sit on the little grassy hill that had become their temporary home. Beth was usually quiet, mulling over the day's work, while Daryl smoked the cigarettes he pilfered from the remains of Terminus.

On the fourth night, Beth watched the ghostly curls of smoke form around Daryl's face as he exhaled. "Why do you do that?"

"What? Smoke?" He waited for her nod before continuing. "I dunno. It makes me calmer, takes an edge off. Why, you want some?"

She held her hand out, waiting for him to slip the cigarette between her fingers. Scrunching her brow, she stared at the faint red glow at the end before confessing, "I don't really know what to do."

He took it back from her, slowly placing it between his lips and inhaling. When he was little more than a kid, Merle had taught him how to blow smoke circles. He did that now, just to show off, which made Beth roll her eyes. She took it back from him, balancing the cigarette between her own lips.

"Careful. Just breathe in a little, or you'll get sick." Before the smoke hit her lungs, Beth would have considered Daryl's warning dramatic. Then the fiery rush down her throat and across her chest threw her, however, making her blow the smoke out of her mouth almost as soon as she had inhaled it. Immediately, she started coughing, almost dropping the cigarette.

Daryl's hand rubbed across her back, helping soothe her breathing. His other hand curled around hers, slipping the cigarette from between his fingers. When her coughing subsided, Beth wiped at her eyes. "That's _not_ calming."

"Not the first time," he conceded. "But you get used to it."

She didn't ask for it again, though she did scoot closer to him, resting her head on his shoulder. The aftermath wasn't so bad. Her head was a little dizzy, and her mouth was heavy with the taste of nicotine, but she didn't mind. It reminded her of kissing him, when she could taste it on his mouth.

* * *

"So," Daryl murmured, looking down at the map they had used to get to this place. He glanced up briefly, taking in the way the rising morning sun burnished Terminus with golden. _Pretty lies_ , he thought. "What's next?"

He plucked a blackberry from Beth's outstretched hand while he waited for her to answer. She had foraged those berries for their breakfast from a wild patch not far from camp, fingertips were stained purple with the berry juice. The berry exploded between his teeth, coating his mouth with tart juice as he watched Beth purse her lips, considering. "D.C. was Rick's original goal, right?"

"Yeah, before the prison."

"Right, but we lost that. Do you think he would go back to that plan? Strike out for D.C. again?"

"Maybe," he said at first, popping another berry into his mouth. As he chewed, he considered. "Probably."

"Well, which? Maybe or probably?" She was frustrated with his answer, that was obvious from the way her fair eyebrows drew together. Daryl had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep form laughing at her petulance.

"Probably," he amended. "We gotta find some new maps, though. Ones that'll get us through the Carolinas. I'm glad you had this idea during the summer and not last winter."

"Like you would have let us strike out on a journey back then." The sun had risen high enough to be just behind her, painting her in morning gold.

"Hey, now, you'd barely be thawin' out from the freeze if I didn't keep you put in that funeral home."

"Oh, whatever." He made a move to grab a final blackberry, but Beth raised her hand too quickly, plopping the rest into her own mouth. She had to speak around the berries crowding her cheeks. "Let's go. This place is a bust."

* * *

Back on the road, Daryl taught Beth the summer constellations at night.

"You see the Big Dipper up there?" He whispered to her in the dark. Ironically, a graveyard was making the perfect camping space for them. A tall fence—surprisingly easy to climb over—had kept walkers entirely out. This final resting place was theirs, if only for the night. The summer nights were turning warmer, but Beth still had the poncho draped across their bodies.

She hummed her agreement, her head resting on his chest. "Look to the left and down some. Those stars that look like a guy with his arms raised is Hercules."

With one hand, Daryl twirled the tail of her braid around his fingers. He raised his other hand skyward, framing the constellations for her. "Go more left for Cygnus. It's shaped like a cross."

"How do you know all this?" He knew so much about the world around them, how to be a part of it. Her amazement over how well he fit into nature never ceased, especially when he kept revealing new skills like this every other day.

"Merle learned about it in school, and he would tell me about it." He fell quiet for a moment, just playing with her hair. "Sometimes we had to sleep outside, so we had a lot of time to learn the stars."

If he were honest, Daryl's motives here weren't to have a heart to heart. Beth had been having nightmares since leaving Terminus, making her sleep little and far between. He was hoping that if he talked her to sleep, it might ease her dreams some. She made no attempts to stifle the yawn that escaped her lips as she pondered his words.

"I used to look at the stars with my mom, but she didn't know the constellations." Beth reached up, slipping the hair tie from her braid. As her hair fell loose, Daryl ran his fingers through the strands, gently untangling it. "She would make up stories for me instead."

Her words were growing slow and slurred. It wouldn't be long before sleep overtook her, he was sure. What he didn't intend, though, was for sleep to claim him as well. Unbidden, he fell into slumber just moments after Beth. Daryl was utterly unprepared when, hours later, he was startled awake.

Beth, in the throes of her nightmare, had clutched his shirt so tightly that Daryl's instincts kicked in. Assuming he had been grabbed, he sprang up, pushing back against her. Beth only gripped tighter, digging her fingers into his arms. It was not his own name that she murmured, still mostly asleep, but her sister's.

"Maggie!" Hearing the girl's name brought Daryl fully out of his sleep. He worked her fingers loose as she stirred herself awake. The night seemed to register around her, clarity returning to her eyes as she realized where she was. A shaky sigh escaped her lips and she quickly blinked back tears.

She hung her head before confessing, "I can't stop thinking about them in that place."

 _That place._ Terminus had been her holy grail, and now she couldn't bring herself to even say the name. He couldn't deny that the others might have been in Terminus, for however briefly. His poncho was proof enough of their presence there.

"You're crazy if you don't think all them would burn in hell before they let anyone take 'em out. We didn't survive the Governor for nothin'." Beth shuddered under his hands despite the muggy warmth of the night. Clouds had moved in some time during their dreaming, bringing humidity with them. For just a moment, Daryl's breath hitched in his throat.

Not all of them had survived the Governor. An image of Hershel flashed through his mind's eye, kindly farmer on his knees as the Governor sunk Michonne's sword into his throat. Beth, thankfully, was too consumed in her musings to clock in on his misstep.

"We were so close." She tugged on the poncho for emphasis. "And we still missed them. Can you believe that?"

"Dead people walk around, Beth."

"Okay, smart ass." She pushed against him now, prompting him to lay back down. "We better go back to sleep."

"Yeah, before we wake the neighbors."

She could just make out his shit-eating grin in the dark, huffing her breath at his amusement over his own joke. "Smart ass and a comedian. Go back to sleep."

Despite her barbs, she fitted herself back into the circle of his arms.

* * *

"If we want maps, we gotta hit up some gas stations," Daryl had decided. "How many bullets you got, Bethy?"

She blushed as she unloaded her gun to count. The nickname had been rolling off his tongue with ease for a week now, but it still took her by surprise every time. "Three were loaded. I have six in my backpack, though."

"Hmm. Nine's not great, but we'll make it work. How's your wrist?"

The idea that someone like Daryl Dixon would so easily dole out a nickname the way he had for her still caught her off guard. Beth remembered Merle's habit of handing out derogatory nicknames—he had called Carol sunshine in that condescending tone so many times that it was burned in her mind. Daryl calling her 'Bethy', though, felt entirely different.

"Doesn't hurt at all anymore." She flexed her right wrist forward and backwards, twisting it in a circle to show that the range of motion had been restored in her healing. He nodded back at her, pleased with the demonstration.

"We should be okay if we play it careful. We won't approach a station to clear until we stake it out a little first."

Finding gas stations to loot for maps meant altering their travelling path. Whereas before the pair had been travelling through the forest, keeping far from the road, Daryl changed course considerably. They stayed well within the tree line, but in sight of the road at all times.

The growling, snarling sounds of walkers was more prominent on their new path. Though Daryl often joked about their rotting brains, the undead were not entirely stupid. There were enough littered cars—not to mention bodies—easily visible through gaps in the trees to stand testament to the dead's success. The road was, in theory, easier travel, but it was also easier feeding ground for the walkers.

Increased numbers of walkers meant a decrease in the number of animals. Birds still flitted through the foliage overhead, but Beth soon found herself missing other forest wildlife. When they had traveled deep in the trees, it was not uncommon at all to happen upon rabbits and deer. Once she had even watched a large red fox forage through the underbrush, sunshine glinting off his coat and turning it to flames.

Now, though, the forest was mostly quiet. Things did not grow so wild here, next to the road, the grasses trampled by human and walker feet alike. She had just made up her mind to complain, lips falling open, but Daryl tapped her on the shoulder before any words could come forward. Following his gaze, Beth's eyes lit upon a gas station…of sorts. It was really more a ramshackle shed with gas pumps out front, but if there was any kind of convenience store inside, she would take it.

Daryl inclined his head toward it, an unspoken question. _You wanna try it?_

Beth shrugged in response, already angling herself to walk across the wide, mostly empty road. _Might as well._

Quick, quiet footsteps and a few ducks behind some abandoned cars got the pair safely across. Beth took some quick peaks in the windows while Daryl toyed with the door handle. There was nothing interesting inside, as far as she could tell. Instead, she turned to watch Daryl use short lengths of stiff wire to tumble the lock mechanics.

"Don't let me get bit while you're standin' around gawkin'," he muttered. Beth blushed at the admonishment, taking a quick look around. They had been covert enough to cross the road without drawing attention from the walkers, and thankfully none lingered too close to the station.

"You're fine, drama king." The words had barely left her lips when a soft _click_ announced Daryl's success. One more twist of his wrist and the gas station door sprang loose beneath his touch.

Shafts of dusty sunlight streamed in from thick, dingy windows. The interior was quiet, undisturbed. Whoever had locked up on that final day had left everything orderly, though time had given the tiny shop a good layering of dust. Idly, Beth etched a _B_ in the coating on the cashier's counter while Daryl began rummaging. He had been mindful to shut the door behind them, though he had trapped in all the mid-June heat with them as well.

Between the heat and the dust, it was almost chokingly stuffy on the inside. Beth lifted her braid from where it rested against her sweating neck and laid it over her shoulder instead. She walked the aisles slowly, looking for anything they might use. This tiny, shabby gas station had been continuously overlooked by travelers before them, but she refused to make that same mistake.

A sewing kit from one aisle. Refills on the medication they carried from another. More fruit leather, making Beth smirk ruefully in memory of their journey to the bust that was Terminus. Batteries for their flashlight; fishing hooks and line for Daryl. From behind the counter, she pilfered a few packs of cigarettes for him, too.

"Get that whiskey while you're back there." His voice behind her made Beth jump, but her fingers curled around the neck of the bottle he asked for. She glared at him over her shoulder for scaring her, taking in the way his perpetually messy hair clung to his face with sweat.

"Find any maps?" She asked, tucking the whiskey bottle into their backpack, pushing it between their spare clothes for safe keeping.

"Nah. Here." He flicked his wrist so fast that Beth had no idea what he tossed at her until it plopped in her hands. Brightly colored fabric crinkled against her fingers. A candy bar.

"Out of this whole store, the only thing you pick up is a Kit-Kat?" She shook her head at him, but he only shrugged, his wide shoulders rising and falling beneath the threadbare blue plaid of his shirt.

"Seemed to me like you had it all worked out with all your rootin' around. Thanks for the fishin' line." He held his hand out to help her back over top of the counter. In his other hand was a Snickers for himself.

Only once back in the cover of the trees alongside the road did they chance opening their candy. It _looked_ fine to Beth, but she still couldn't help wondering aloud, "Think we'll die if we eat this?"

"Shouldn't." Daryl already had a mouthful of his candy. He had to swallow before he could continue. "Stuff tends to stay good longer than the expiration date says."

He had a point. They had all eaten a lot of 'expired' food at the prison with no ill consequences. She broke off a piece of her Kit-Kat and placed it on her tongue, feeling her eyelids flutter shut at the rush of sugar in her mouth. How easy it was to forget the sweetness of candy when you spend your days eating wild-caught game and foraged berries.

Or the sweetness of a simple gesture such as this when so much of your time is devoted to keeping each other alive. For once, even though they were out in the open, Daryl didn't pose any argument when Beth reached for his hand.

* * *

The downright exhaustion of constant travel was helping Beth's nightmares some, but it wasn't absolute by any means. Most days, the muggy heat and exertion of travel—not to mention the occasional brush with walkers, no matter how hard they tried to avoid it—left her to fall into sleep immediately after she laid down.

Some nights, though, Daryl could hear her keening in her sleep. Those nights weren't the worst; usually her face would relax, and her sleep continue almost undisturbed. The _bad_ nights involved her thrashing around, fighting off unknown threats in her sleep. On those night, Daryl had to restrain her before she hurt herself.

"Beth," he would whisper to her. Always a whisper, even when she was screaming or calling out Maggie and Hershel's names. Daryl would press her shoulders down, pinning her to the ground. Sometimes he had to use his full weight to keep her from thrashing, laying his body on top of hers. " _Beth._ Hey, you're okay. You're okay. I'm here."

Between his weight on her and the whispering, not to mention running his hands through her hair, Daryl was able to get Beth to calm down before her nightmare outbursts could draw unwanted attention.

Yet, despite all her whimpering and crying out and physical reactions to these nightmares, Daryl envied Beth.

For Daryl dreamed of Merle with almost as much regularity, though his dreams were not so reactionary as Beth's. Instead, when Merle appeared in Daryl's dreams, he knew them for what they were. He would buck against his dreams, trying desperately to get his body to move, to wake up. Every time, though, his body turned leaden, trapping him in his dream until it played through.

The dream was the same almost every time. Daryl and Merle were in that field again, where Daryl had found his brother undead. Just like in real life, Merle looked up from the corpse he was eating, blood dripping down his gray face, yellow eyes fixating on his little brother.

Playing off real life again, Merle would approach Daryl. Every time Daryl pushed against Merle, his brother came back. Over and over and over again. But his dreams would differ from real life in that he was unarmed in his dreams. Rather than eventually stabbing Merle in the head to end his second, undead life, Daryl was helpless to defend himself. All he could do was push against Merle until his arms grew heavy and weary. At the end of each dream, Daryl was too weak to fight anymore.

Merle would advance, indefatigable, but Daryl could not say the same of himself. Arms heavy and useless at his sides, Merle would reach for him and Daryl himself was powerless to stop it. Cold, vicelike arms would grip Daryl until he was as immobile in the dream as his body was outside of it.

The only blessing in these nightmares was the fact that Daryl always woke before Merle's bloodstained teeth bit into his skin. Only then would he be able to force his eyes open, his breath shaking through his chest in the aftermath.

Beth was the first thing he saw every time. It was anyone's guess how she knew when the nightmares started, considering the paralysis Daryl experienced. Regardless, Daryl would wake to his head pillowed on Beth's thighs, her fingers running soothingly through his hair. More often than not, she would be humming as well, though she never chanced singing outright in the open.

As soon as his eyes were open, Beth would smile at him, dipping herself over his head to press a kiss to his forehead.

"Welcome back," she would whisper. At the sound of her voice, the terrors of his dream would begin to fade away.

* * *

"Hey, Bethy. Know how to drive?"

His question surprised her. Beth looked over her shoulder, pulling the lollipop from her mouth to answer, eyebrows knitting together. "No?"

There were considerably more walkers in this area. They had passed a 'Welcome to South Carolina' sign just that morning; at the very least, they knew they were no longer in Georgia. That victory of entering a new state had been hard-won with weary legs and blister ridden feet, not to mention the layers of grime left from living exclusively outside for weeks on end.

"Well, I mean, _kind_ of. Daddy would let me drive the truck out in the fields, but not on the actual street with other drivers."

Daryl smirked at her, raising his arms to gesture at their surroundings. "Ain't no other drivers here, neither. I reckon you'll be just fine. C'mon."

Following Daryl around the side of the gas station, he led her out back, where a garage was situated. The door hung crooked on its hinges—or what was left of them, anyway. So _that_ was the banging noise she had heard earlier, the one that Daryl told her 'not to fuss over'. "Uh, did you kick that door in?"

"Yeah. Couldn't get the damn lock to click for me."

He ushered her inside, his hand lingering on her hip. When her eyes adjusted to the gloom inside the garage, Beth was able to discern the figure of a cobalt blue truck. It was glossy beneath a layer of dust, the lines of it vintage though Beth couldn't place a date on it if she tried.

"Think it'll drive?" She asked, catching on to Daryl's intent. Even if the truck didn't last them for long, at the very least, it would be a small vacation from their foot travel. Inside her warn boots, Beth's feet relaxed in relief at the thought.

"Only one way to find out."

The keys were in the ignition, doors unlocked. Daryl opened the driver's side door for her, watching her scramble into the seat. A quick twist of her wrist and the engine began to sputter. There was no way of knowing how long it had sat untouched before they came upon it, but soon enough, those sputters turned into a proper engine thrum.

Beth turned to him with wide eyes, a smile splitting her face. Daryl was just as excited, hauling the backpack Beth had dropped onto his shoulder and moving quickly to the passenger side.

"It's got a full tank," she told him once he was settled in the seat beside her. He busied himself poking around the glove box and pressing buttons on the dash.

"Well, don't waste it now. Let's go." Beth blanched at the realization that he intended for her to drive.

"Daryl… I just told you…" He waved her concerns away with one hand, the other busy rifling through a collection of tapes he had found in the console.

"Who's gonna pull you over, huh? Drivin' on an empty road ain't any different from drivin' in a field. Just try not to hit too many walkers so we don't gum up the engine. You like Fleetwood Mac?"

Daryl was not at all prepared for her answer. She laughed, the sound abrupt, and moved toward him. Little hands tugged at his collar, drawing his face towards her just moments before her lips pressed to his. Her mouth was hot and seeking over his, fingers twisting into his hair. Beth had stretched herself across the console between them and his hand had no problem finding the swath of her exposed skin just above her hip where her shirt had ridden up. They were tangled in a hectic mess for only a few moments, Daryl's survival instincts kicking in and overriding his desire for her.

He pulled back, but only marginally, their foreheads still tipped together. Beth's hurried breath washed over his face as he smirked. "You coulda just said yeah, you like Fleetwood Mac."

Despite his admonishing, his hand hadn't moved from her skin, fingers teasing along the waistband of her jeans. With her face so close, it was hard not to laugh as she rolled her eyes. Beth pulled back from him, making a show of fastening her seatbelt.

"Fleetwood's fine, but I prefer Stevie's solo stuff." It was Daryl's turn to laugh now.

"You're shit outta luck there, Bethy." He fed the tape into its player imbedded in the console, turning the volume knob as 'Second Hand News' began filtering through the speakers.

* * *

Daryl played navigator to Beth's driving, instructing her when and which way to turn. Eventually, he got her set on a stretch of highway they could follow until nightfall. That was their plan; to drive only through the night and sleep in the safety of the truck.

Well, that had been the plan, but ten minutes after Beth pulled onto the highway, Daryl had drifted asleep beside her. His head rested on the window, face relaxed in his slumber. Beth turned the volume down some, singing along in a low voice.

'The Chain', after all, had been one of her father's favorite songs.

 _Listen to the wind blow, watch the sun rise. Running in the shadows, damn your love, damn your lies._

Driving now really wasn't so different from driving in the fields, just like Daryl said. The highway was mostly empty ahead of them; only occasionally did Beth have to swerve around an abandoned car. Even more rarely did she have to avoid running over bodies in various states of decomposition.

 _And if you don't love me now, you will never love me again._

The setting sun was diffusing the cab in golden hues. Rays played across Daryl's tanned skin, alighted on his hair in auburn streaks.

 _I can still hear you saying you would never break the chain._

One hand still on the wheel, she reached over to run her thumb along his cheek. This man used to scare her, she remembered. When Rick and the others first came to the farm, Daryl had been hurt and angry and made no efforts to cover either of those facts. He had been abrasive even with members of his own group.

The prison had changed him, had changed them all. Mourning the presumed loss of Merle, stepping up to help lead when Rick wasn't able to…it had all brought Daryl into the man he was now. The man, Beth ventured, that she loved.

Her sunset realization was not as shocking as she might have predicted had the thought crossed her mind months ago. They had grown incredibly close, she had to admit, travelling and surviving together.

Hours ago, they had talked about how Beth only need drive until the sun was setting. Then, the plan was, to switch seats so Daryl could pull the truck of the road and hopefully conceal it in some way. At the moment, though, Beth was loathe to wake him just for that. Ahead, there was a cluster of broken-down cars she figured could offer adequate cover by Daryl's standards.

Beth eased up on the gas, leaning forward in her seat over the steering wheel to make sure she would be able to make it around the cars. The crunch of ground was familiar to her as she pulled off the road, parking as closely to the other vehicles as she dared. She surveyed their surroundings from the safety of the cab, peering all around.

The world was quiet, save for Fleetwood Mac still streaming from the speakers and Daryl's soft breaths. She settled in, watching the last of the dying sun while her companion slept beside her. Their plan had been to take turns sleeping in the backseat, which was currently only occupied by Daryl's crossbow. The person on watch would sit in the front seat for their shift.

But Daryl was already asleep in the front seat, and once the tape ended, Beth cut the engine. The quiet was near deafening as night gathered all around. To her surprise, South Carolina didn't look much different from Georgia at all.

Sighing, she let herself slump to the side, resting her head on her hand while she watched Daryl sleep. How far had he travelled, she wondered? He certainly had no qualms reading the maps, easily finding a course and setting her on it to drive. Before then, he had charted a path to Terminus like it was nothing.

Beth didn't have long to watch his slumber, though, because soon Daryl was raising a hand to rub at his face. She should have known that her prolonged scrutiny would eventually trigger his instincts.

"You're supposed to keep your eyes on the road." His words slurred, still thick with his sleep, leaving her giggling beside him.

"We're not even moving."

"Mmm." After a shake of his head, Daryl managed to pull himself entirely from his sleep. He immediately leaned forward, reaching for the backpack that rested between his feet. When he pulled their water canteen from the side pouch, he offered it to her before taking a swig himself. "How long we been sittin' here?"

"Five minutes, maybe? You didn't miss anything besides my excellent parking skills."

"I'm sad I missed _that._ " From the depths of the backpack, Daryl pulled out fruit leather…and whiskey. "What flavor do you want?"

"Surprise me. What's with the booze?"

Plastic slapped against her thigh before he answered. She picked up the package he had tossed at her, tearing it open without bothering to try to read the flavor in the dark. Peach flooded her mouth upon the first bite, anyway.

"It's called a night cap, Bethy. Did you think I taught you all there was to drinkin' back at the shack?" Even in the dark, she could make out the glint of his teeth at the flash of his devilish grin. There was a muffled pop when he broke the seal on the bottle. "To South Carolina."

Lifting the bottle in toast, he was met with Beth's half-eaten peach fruit leather. "To this truck. My feet have never been so happy."

His chuckle wafted through the dark before Daryl tipped the bottle. He swallowed a hearty shot of whiskey before offering the bottle to her. Beth welcomed the burn spreading through her chest at her own swig. When she held the bottle out for him to take from her, Daryl's hand wrapped around hers, giving a solid tug.

Lips tasting like whiskey and apples, an oddly pleasant combination, Daryl managed to kiss her without spilling any of the opened whiskey. He pulled away just long enough to close the bottle before reaching for her again. But this time, he pulled her, giggling, over the console between them.

He settled her on his lap and she happily leaned back against him.

"Thanks for letting me sleep," he murmured into her ear. His breath sent a delicious sort of shiver down her spine.

"You better return the favor tomorrow," she threatened, without any gravity at all in her voice. "Driving with a sleeping passenger is _boring_."

Daryl moved her heavy braid aside, trailing kisses along the back of her neck before nibbling at her ear. She did so love these moments when they were alone, when Daryl felt they were safe enough for his hands to trace senseless patterns along her thighs.

"I reckon I better entertain you a little before I take first watch, then, huh?"

* * *

 **A/N:** My. Goodness. I _barely_ got this finished before the end of June!

I went back and forth a lot on if I wanted Daryl and Beth to figure out that cannibals lived in Terminus. I ultimately decided against it (for the time being), based on the fact that Rick & Co. only knew in the show because the cannibals were still alive at the time.

You might have noticed that there is a new title for this month! 'Powdered Gold' comes from this quote: _"It was June, and the world smelled of roses. The sunshine was like powdered gold over the grassy hillside."_ by Maud Hart Lovelace. Though 'June' is in the full quote, 'powdered gold' will set the tone of the summer months of this story. Summer is my favorite season, and I couldn't bear to write something summer themed and have it be a downer.

So... get ready for lots of fluffy moments as Beth and Daryl travel through the Carolinas over the summer months.


End file.
